Actions Speak Louder Than Words
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: Post TRH, AU from there, multi-chapter Mollcroft. Mycroft Holmes realizes what a burden his little brother has put on Molly Hooper's shoulders by asking for her help, and feels the unfamiliar need to ease that burden somehow. So he offers to share his place of sanctuary, seeing that they must share this secret. But that act of kindness turns out to be just the beginning...
1. Chapter 1

**One**

When Sherlock Holmes asked Dr. Molly Hooper for help in faking his death and subsequently keep the knowledge of his being alive for as long as he was off destroying the criminal network of James Moriarty, he truly didn't know how much he was asking of her. Granted, there were certainly larger and more pressing matters that required his immediate attention, but even so…the young pathologist did not deserve to carry such a terrible burden on her shoulders for such an indefinite – but certainly long – period of time.

It was at the funeral of his little brother that Mycroft Holmes came to this revelation. All he had to do was look at her to see how much pain, worry and guilt she was secretly carrying. It made the grief of Mrs. Hudson, Detective Inspector Lestrade, even Dr. Watson, seem almost trivial. She stood apart from the other three, her face deathly white, the knuckles of her folded hands even tighter, and her eyes bright with moisture. She wasn't even sobbing, as the other three were (though Lestrade and Dr. Watson tried to disguise them behind coughs and clearings of the throat), but stood still as a statue. The way her shoulders were held so stiffly brought to Mycroft's mind the famous image of Atlas, carrying the world on his shoulders.

It was then that Mycroft had a thought that he had never had before: _I must do something for her. _Shocked at himself, Mycroft tried to brush it away, but the thought was so strong and powerful that he couldn't. Looking at her as the service ended, Mycroft knew that he could not ignore it and had to follow through with it.

_But how? What on Earth could she want from me?_ The only thing that came to mind was news of his little brother, but that he could not give just yet. His little brother was en route to his first location, being smuggled in a cargo boat, and consequently would not be able to make outside contact until he landed in his port.

_But surely there must be something else that can be done? _Now extremely surprised with himself for thinking this train of thought so vehemently, Mycroft shook his head a bit. The short service had now come to an end, and the government official could think of nothing better than to head to his club and private room for some peace and quiet –

_Ah, of course!_ He had found a solution to his dilemma.

* * *

At the end of the short funeral service, Molly kept her farewells and condolences to Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and John as short as possible. It hurt so much to even look at them, knowing what she knew and knowing that she had the power to end all of their misery but couldn't. Once that was done, Molly walked through and out of the cemetery as quickly as she could without outright running or tripping over her modest black heels. Her black coat she wrapped tightly around herself against the damp autumn breeze. Thankfully, she managed to get out of the cemetery without anybody noticing or calling after her.

When she reached the sidewalk, just as she was about to flag down a cab, an elegant black car pulled up to the curb right in front of her. The back door opened, but nobody came out. Confused, Molly stepped back and looked around for whom the car had come for. She soon found out.

From the cemetery and towards her came Mycroft Holmes. In his long black coat, with his brolly firmly gripped in his hand, he looked every bit as imposing as his car. "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Holmes," she said, lowering her head and turning to walk further down the block to catch a cab. But a black-gloved hand on her elbow stopped her; the grip was firm but gentle.

"Dr. Hooper, please accept a ride home from me," Mycroft said, his quiet tone identical to his grip on her elbow.

Lifting her head, Molly looked him in the eyes. She saw nothing but a genuine entreaty to accept his offer, so after a moment she nodded and allowed herself to be led back to the car. He opened the back passenger door for her and, to her surprise, he got in after her. Mycroft gave her address to the driver, who promptly left the curb and joined the London traffic again.

Molly had no idea what to say to the man sitting beside her, and thankfully he did not seem to want conversation. The older Holmes seemed preoccupied with work, writing something down in a memo pad he'd extracted from his inner jacket pocket. Wanting not to seem nosy, Molly turned her gaze to her window. But she saw nothing of London rushing past, being too preoccupied in her own miserable thoughts and worries. Would every other day be as hard as the last four had been? Or would they only get harder? Sherlock had asked her to look after his friends for her, but how could she really do that when just looking at them caused her to wish she were dead? But how could she worry about herself with Sherlock God-knows-where, on the run and dead to the world, with a near-impossible mission before him and not able to come home for months, if not years…

The young pathologist pressed the fingers of her left hand to her forehead, applying pressure to her pounding head (it didn't do any good). _What a mess…what a terrible, awful, miserable mess…_

"Dr. Hooper."

She jumped at the sound of her name, and the feeling of a hand placed hesitantly on her forearm. Turning her head, she saw that it was Mycroft (_Duh, Molly, who else would it be?_). "Huh?" she said dumbly.

"We're at your flat."

Looking out of her window, she saw that he was, indeed, right; she hadn't felt when the car had come to a stop. "Oh, right, of course, um…" She nodded at him, and tried her best to give him a smile. "Thanks."

He nodded back, that gentle look still in his eyes. "Anytime, Dr. Hooper. I will let you know when I have any news."

A drop of relief fell into Molly's pool of worries. "I appreciate that, Mr. Holmes…Take care of yourself." With that, Molly got out of the car and approached her building. The black car had gone by the time she was inside.

* * *

Once Molly was outside her flat's front door, she reached inside her coat pocket for her keys. When she did, she felt a folded piece of paper nestled beside them that most certainly hadn't been there when she'd put her coat on before leaving a few hours ago. Curiously, she pulled it out and unfolded it. The paper was small, as if ripped from a memo pad…_Mycroft passed me a note? _He must have slipped it into her jacket pocket after writing it while she'd been lost in her worries. Now more curious than ever, she read the short message that was written in crisp, elegant script:

_Dr. Hooper,_

_ I know what a large burden you must bear in keeping my little brother's biggest secrets. If ever you feel the need to escape, for sanctuary, or for simple and peaceful silence, I would like to offer a solution. I have left with you one of two keys to my exclusive private room of my club: The Diogenes. I am there every day from a quarter to five till twenty to eight. However, nine times out of ten I will not be in my private room, which I only use for rare occasions when I need absolute peace and solitude from others, so you need never worry about disturbing me. _

_ The address I have listed below; it should not be hard to find. When you arrive, show the key to Henry at the front desk, which will be all he needs to allow you entrance. He knows I would not allow that key to fall into anybody's hands by accident. If I am using the room, he will know and tell you, and you can come back when I have left. _

_ You are under no obligation to accept this offer; you do not know me and so have no reason to give me your full trust. I only ask that, if or when you refuse, you phone me so we can arrange that you return my key to me. And please believe me when I say that I do not wish to make an already difficult situation even harder for you to bear. _

_Sincerely, Mycroft Holmes_

After looking over the address, which was in Pall Mall and not far from the Carlton, Molly reached back into her pocket. Pulling out her keys, she found an unfamiliar one among them which was not hooked to her key ring. It was a skeleton key, made of old brass but well-polished. It felt heavy but warm in her palm.

As she closed her hand around it while opening her front door, remembering how hard this day and past days had been, Molly already knew that she would at least give this offer a chance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

Molly had never truly understood the expression "weary to the bone" until now, as she washed up after her last post-mortem. She had worked a twelve-hour shift, from midnight to noon. It was originally only meant to be an eight-hour shift, but a bus crash five blocks over at dawn had meant all hands on deck in the pathology department. Not only did Molly's body ache from her long and active shift, but her emotions felt wrecked after seeing so many innocent casualties come through her doors, four of them young children.

But more than anything, Molly felt tired. No, not tired – _absolutely exhausted. _Since Sherlock's fall nine days ago, she had grabbed every chance of overtime or subbing shifts as she could. Work could always help her forget her worries and troubles before, but it wasn't working properly now. Every time she came into the lab and spotted the microscope that Sherlock used, she remembered him sitting at it, working diligently; if she was doing a post-mortem in the morgue, she remembered when he would come in without asking and stand beside her as she worked on the victim of his latest mystery. These moments happened more than several times a shift, and it hurt Molly's heart every time. Still, this was better than sitting in her flat all alone with nothing substantial to distract her from the heavy burden she carried. And, to top everything off, Molly could barely sleep. She could only manage a few hours a night, each of those hours were filled with anxiety dreams.

Safe to say, Molly felt at the end of her rope.

After putting on her coat that she had retrieved from her locker, her hand absently fell into the left pocket. When she felt folded paper inside, Molly pulled it out and said, "Oh," in recognition. It was Mycroft's note that he'd given her the day of the funeral. She had forgotten about his offer to her, and the few times it had crossed her mind since the funeral, Molly had brushed it away. Part of her had not wanted to be a bother, and part of her wanted to distance herself from anything related to what had happened nine days ago.

But reading the note over again now, Molly was struck again by how kind and considerate the note was. The fact that Mycroft was willing to share something so private with her really touched her heart, and this made her remember her resolution to give this a try. Checking the note again, Molly saw that she would have a good few hours before Mycroft would come to the Diogenes Club, so she decided that there was no time like the present. If this "sanctuary" did nothing for her, then she would thank him, return his key, and carry on as best she could.

Such a thought really made Molly hope that this would work.

* * *

On the cab ride to the Diogenes Club, Molly looked over and memorized the instructions that Mycroft had given her in the note. She was relieved when the cab stopped and she saw that she had given the correct address to the cabbie. After paying him, she quickly got out and stuck her hands in her coat pockets. In the left pocket, she felt the note from Mycroft; in the right, she felt her set of keys, specifically the skeleton key that Mycroft had put on it. She'd been keeping it in her purse, as forgotten as the note had been until today.

The building itself did not stand out from the other elegant ones on the same block, and that comforted Molly somewhat. It made her feel more like she was coming here to hide, to escape, to disappear anonymously rather than stand out. This gave her the final drop of courage that she needed to walk up to the oaken front door and go through it.

Once inside, Molly could feel an atmosphere of quiet settle over her like humidity in a rainforest. The front hall was sparse but extremely elegant, with a marble floor and a dark-wood reception desk. Behind the latter sat a man in his sixties, with silver hair neatly combed and wearing a perfectly-pressed dark suit. Her footsteps alerted him to a new presence, and he immediately looked up from the book he had been reading. "May I help you, miss?" he asked, his voice deep and pleasant.

Remembering Mycroft's note, Molly pulled out her keys from her coat pocket, making sure to display the skeleton key. "Um, yes, my name is –"

"Ah, Miss Hooper, of course!" A genuine smile came to the man's face as he stood up and walked around the desk. "I am Henry, as I'm sure you've been told. Mr. Holmes told me that you may come. I am glad that you have. Please follow me, and I will show you to your room."

"Uh, thank you, Henry, but it's not mine, it's his."

"Miss Hooper, in the twenty-five years that Mr. Holmes has been a member of this club, never before has he given his second key to anybody. As long as you have that key, that room will be yours as much as his."

Not knowing how to respond to that at all, Molly stayed silent and followed Henry up the flight of marble stairs behind the reception desk. When they reached the landing, just before one of two sets of double doors, Henry stopped them and turned towards her.

"Some things I should tell you before you enter the club itself. The first and most paramount rule here is silence; except in the front hall area and private rooms, no words are allowed to be spoken or your membership will be revoked. To some it is strange, but this club was made in order to give a refuge from all of the noise and bustle of London life. Also, we only have one or two female members, all around my own age, and they always keep to private rooms. So the men in the common area will not expect to see a pretty young lady here. You should keep that key in view for them to see, just so they do not start a wondering panic. They won't openly object, do not worry; they are just very old-fashioned and set in their ways. Thankfully, all private rooms are soundproofed, so once inside you may do whatever you please."

Molly nodded in understanding, obediently lifting the skeleton key to her chest for all to see. Henry smiled approvingly, turned, and opened one of the elegant doors. Molly followed him with her lips sealed shut, determined not to give a bad impression. As they walked through the large common area, she kept her eyes on the back of Henry's silver head. From the corners of her eyes, she saw that this room seemed just as elegant as the front hall but also quite comfortable. She heard roaring fires, the clink of glasses, and smelled cigars and pipe tobacco. She could feel eyes land on her in surprise rather than hostility, and this calmed the blazing in her cheeks that she felt.

Finally, Henry stopped before an oaken door at the opposite end of the large common area, and indicated for her to open it with her key. She did so carefully, irrationally afraid that she would break the key or jam it in the lock. But she didn't: it was a perfect fit, and the heavy door opened noiselessly. She stepped over the threshold and turned to look back at Henry. He gave a gentle and reassuring smile before shutting the door between them.

Now alone, Molly turned to have a better look at her new sanctuary, and couldn't help but gasp. It was absolutely beautiful. She felt as though she had stepped back in time and into the private study of a Victorian noble. The colors were dark and rich: dark mahogany furniture, rich burgundy walls, forest green and royal blue Persian rugs, even a medieval tapestry hanging on one of the walls. A second wall was completely covered by a large bookshelf filled with old and leather-bound books. A beautifully carved desk sat in one corner, a lovely cabinet piano was in another, and before an equally beautifully carved fireplace was a lounge chair and a sofa.

Both, especially the sofa, were stuffed substantially and looked irresistibly comfortable. As if under a spell, Molly gravitated towards the sofa, with its stuffed cushions and plush pillows. After stripping off her coat and tossing it and her purse on the lounge chair, Molly lowered herself onto the sofa. It was even more comfortable than it looked, if that was at all possible. All of the fatigue and weariness came rushing back to Molly like a tidal wave.

_Well, maybe I'll just rest my eyes for a few minutes, _she thought as she kicked off her shoes, loosened her ponytail, and laid herself down on the sofa. She had a fleeting thought that silence had never been so comforting before falling into a deep, very long overdue, sleep.

* * *

At quarter to five on the dot, Mycroft Holmes entered the Diogenes Club as he did every day (unless he had an urgent meeting or was out of the city). Usually, he and Henry just exchanged a friendly nod, but the man looked so pleased to see him that he thought he had better exchange a greeting. "Afternoon, Henry. Good day?"

"Good day, Mr. Holmes! Before you go up, I must tell you that your room is occupied."

The smile on Henry's face confirmed Mycroft's first suspicions when he'd first saw Henry's pleased face at the sight of him. A warm feeling spread over his heart as relief spread over his mind, but none of that showed on his face to Henry. "I see. When did she arrive?"

"About a quarter after noon, sir," replied Henry. At Mycroft's raised eyebrows, Henry looked even more pleased. "She must really have taken a fancy to the place, Mr. Holmes. Had a feeling she would; she seems like a good girl."

Mycroft paused before quietly answering. "Yes, I believe she is." Snapping back to his usual cool but pleasant exterior, he said, "Well, thank you for informing me, Henry. I was going to keep to the common area today, anyway. Please continue to inform me if and when Molly has come here."

"Very good, sir," said Henry, nodding his head before returning to his book.

Mycroft walked up the familiar marble steps with a bit more spring than usual. He was pleased that his first genuine and freely given act of kindness had been accepted rather than fallen on deaf ears. Then again, Molly Hooper struck him as the kind of person who would never ignore, turn away from, or not see an act of kindness. _No wonder Sherlock trusts her with his life._

The thought of his brother made Mycroft decide to go to his private room, though it was occupied. He'd learned this morning that the first step in Sherlock's long mission had been completed successfully, and his brother was (temporarily) safe. As long as they were both here, Mycroft thought it only wise to pass along the piece of information in person rather than a coded text message, as he'd done the last time to inform her Sherlock had safely gotten to his first destination.

Perhaps she would even smile, most likely for the first time since this whole mess began. Mycroft found that he would not mind seeing such a sight in the slightest, and furthermore, he didn't really care. Thankful that the door and locks were silent here, Mycroft fit his own key the door when he reached it, and slowly opened it to look inside.

Once he spotted her, he entered and softly shut the door behind him. The sight which met his eyes affected his heart in a way he couldn't describe because he never felt it before. Molly was fast asleep, curled on her side and hands under the pillow. The large sofa cushions and her baggy work clothes made her appear small and fragile; her relaxed expression only sharpened the pale cheeks and dark circles beneath her closed eyes. Seeing her like this, Mycroft knew it would be a terrible sin to wake her now.

But still he wanted to do something; for a second time, the urge to give an act of kindness took over him, and thankfully it didn't take him long to figure out what. Swiftly and silently, he walked to the small closet door behind his desk, and pulled out a folded fur blanket. Walking back to the sofa, he unfolded it and carefully draped it over her. Once he had tucked it securely around her, Molly moaned a bit and snuggled into the warmed. Her sleeping face changed from relaxed to peaceful.

Satisfied with himself, but also not comfortable with the strange emotions this little woman was bringing about, Mycroft silently left the room for the common area. He would text her the news of his brother later, when she would be awake and not so close by.

* * *

**A/N: **_Sorry this update took so long. Busy work/rehearsal schedule, lack of response to this story, and writer's block all got in the way. I promise I'll post another chapter by Christmas (and a Christmas Sherlolly story if you're good to me.)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

_Saturday, December 24__th__, Christmas Eve_

_Dear Mr. Holmes,_

_ You have shown great kindness to me ever since the funeral by sharing your private room with me and giving me updates. I'm sure Henry has told you how many times I have come here, which is every day for about a month now, and that should be more than enough to let you know how great my appreciation is. Mere words, I feel, are not enough to express my gratitude. So I would like, if I can, to try and repay your kindness._

_ It wouldn't surprise me if, like Sherlock, you set very little importance on holidays like Christmas. But I do, and I've always felt that nobody should spend the day alone. I'll be here at the club at the time you usually come tomorrow; I'll have a few baked goods for the day, and I also have a small Christmas gift for you. I'll understand if you would rather pass up on my company, so I'll leave the things in the room for you to find the next day, if that's what you wish._

_ Even as I read this note over, it is more than clear that my company and little gifts will be very feeble and hardly worth your time, which I'm sure you consider very valuable. However, it is the best that I can give, and I hope that you can at least appreciate the thought. If I don't see you tomorrow, and even if you don't care, I wish you a very Happy Christmas._

_Sincerely, Molly_

Once she'd finished her note, Molly wasted no time in folding up the paper, slipping it into an envelope, and sealing it tightly. She knew that it was the best she could write and not sound too stupid or pathetic; each word had been chosen as carefully as she could. She had wanted to thank him for that first time she'd come here, the gesture with the blanket, but she felt it would only embarrass him. She'd been shocked that she'd slept for eight hours on that sofa in the first place, and the blanket had only shocked her more. She was sure he would know that she knew, and that was enough. All she could do with it now was put his name on the envelope and make sure it got delivered.

* * *

At quarter to five, right on schedule, Mycroft entered the Diogenes Club. As he swept the snowflakes off the shoulders of his great-coat, he noticed that Henry was looking at him in a way that said he had reason to speak to him beyond the usual greetings today. "Afternoon, Henry," he said as he approached the reception desk.

"Good day, Mr. Holmes," he greeted cheerily, pulling a simple white envelope from his jacket's inside pocket. "Miss Hooper was here earlier today. She left about an hour ago, and asked me to give you this." He held out the envelope to Mycroft.

Mycroft's only indication of his surprise was a slight raising of his right eyebrow as he took the envelope from Henry. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, and since I'll be with my family tomorrow, Happy Holidays!"

All Mycroft managed in return was a nod, his attention on the envelope that he had just received. He restrained himself from opening it until he was safely inside his private room; he did not want to be surrounded by others when he read her letter (he could feel by the weight of the envelope that it only contained a single sheet).

Very carefully, Mycroft unsealed the envelope, pulled out the letter, and unfolded it. Her handwriting was a simple, pretty cursive that perfectly reflected her.

The elder Holmes brother had to read it over several times before her words truly sank in. Never before had he himself received such an offer of kindness, with no ulterior motive or demand for something in return. It felt…words could not describe it, but it was not a bad feeling at all. In fact, a pleasant warmth spread through his chest at this little revelation. The way she had written, so humbly and without presumption, as if she fully expected him to ignore or reject her offers. Well, could he really blame her for that? People did call him "The Iceman" for a reason, after all.

And yet…and yet, he did not want that to be how she viewed him.

Sherlock had not – and would never, he knew – confide in him as to his reasons for putting his trust in Molly Hooper. However, he could fathom a reason or two. All of his life, Mycroft had known that anybody his brother allowed to be close to him were not only individuals who could tolerate Sherlock's eccentricities. More importantly, these were people who could see that Sherlock was not a sociopath – he only tried so hard to be one, to the point where he believed it himself.

Mycroft Holmes, who was more intelligent than his brother, knew that he certainly seemed more like a sociopath than his brother when put side-by-side, but he was also wise enough to know that he wasn't one (though there were certainly times he wished he was).

If Dr. Hooper could see that Sherlock was not what he'd convinced himself he was, he hoped that she would see the same in him.

* * *

On Christmas Day, Molly arrived at the Diogenes Club at 4:30 PM, fifteen minutes before Mycroft was due to arrive. She felt pretty certain that they would not see each other, but Molly had said that she would be in the private room when he would be at the club and she would keep her word.

When she arrived, her hands were full with both a container and wrapped plates of baked goods: brownies, little fruitcakes, and Christmas cookies. Her load lessened as she made her way through the common area, which was no less crowded on this holiday than on any other day. As she placed a wrapped place on coffee and side-tables, she made eye contact with the men sitting near them, nodded and gave a warm smile – a silent way of saying "Happy Holidays." All of them looked shocked by her actions, but a few smiled back at her in appreciation.

Once inside of the private room, now familiar but just as comforting to her a month later, Molly placed the container of baked treats she had brought with her on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Then, Molly reached into her purse and pulled out a present wrapped in emerald green paper with a silver bow. She placed it beside the container with a sigh. She was now quite convinced that she would not see Mycroft today, so she would leave these for him to find tomorrow.

Deciding to make the room a little warmer and Christmas-y, Molly walked to the fireplace and made a fire. Once it was roaring, her gaze wandered to the cabinet piano in the corner. The sight had tempted her for a month, but now the day really drew her to it. Sitting down at it, she gingerly lifted the lid and looked at the black-and-white keys. Knowing that the room was sound-proofed and she would disturb no one, Molly gently placed her fingers on the keys.

_God, how many years has it been since I've done this? _Molly thought, cringing at how rusty she had become. But she kept at it until "Silent Night" sounded at least acceptable to her ears. So lost became she in her task and the instrument that she did not hear the sound of a key in the lock or the door opening.

But the sound of it closing she _did _hear, causing her to end her playing on an off-key and turn around on the bench with a little jump. There stood Mycroft Holmes by the door, his briefcase in one hand and his brolly in the other. He wore a tailored woolen overcoat of charcoal gray that buttoned all the way up to his neck, and black leather gloves. His face appeared pleasantly detached, but his eyes seemed…nervous.

Snapping herself out of her shock, Molly stood up from the bench (nearly tripping over her own feet in the process) and said cleverly, "Oh, um, Mr. Holmes! Happy Christmas!"

"Same to you, Dr. Hooper," said Mycroft, after clearing his throat awkwardly.

An even more awkward silence followed after that, as Mycroft hung up his winter things.

"You can call me Molly, you know," Molly finally said, determined to make the both of them feel more at ease. "Dr. Hooper…well, outside of work I don't really like being called that, respectful though it is."

Mycroft blinked at her and then nodded his head. "Very well, Molly. I suppose you should call me Mycroft, then."

"Only if you don't mind."

"Usually, I do, but not with you."

"Oh, good then."

Mycroft wore his customary three-piece gray suit and a dark-green tie today. He walked towards the coffee table and smiled down at the container. "I am not surprised that you are the one who left all those treats out there for the members. Normally I pay no mind to the others, but it is impossible not to ignore the more cheerful atmosphere and the increased number of smiles thanks to the treats you provided."

Molly couldn't help the pleased smile from appearing on her face. "I wanted to be productive today, so I baked up a storm, digging up old family recipes and putting them to use."

Mycroft had taken the lid off the container and pulled out one of the Christmas cookies. It looked like a standard sugar cookie, shaped like a stocking and topped with pink icing. "May I?" Mycroft seemed to remember to ask.

Molly giggled. "I wouldn't have brought any in here if you couldn't have them, Mycroft."

In the firelight, she was sure that she imagined Mycroft's cheeks tingeing with a bit of pink. He took a small bite of the cookie, and in the next second his eyes had closed and he'd practically sighed in satisfaction. "My goodness, these are _excellent!_ What goes into them?"

Molly's pleased smile had widened at Mycroft's reaction to her baking. "Most standard ingredients for cookies, but with a special ingredient. Can you deduce it?"

His eyes sparkling with the idea of a challenge, Mycroft took a bigger bite of the cookie and chewed it slowly. Molly bit her lip in excitement, not knowing if he would get it or not. But after he swallowed, his eyes lit up. "Sour cream!"

Molly gave a few claps, still smiling. "Very good! A very small amount, but it makes all the difference. It took me years to get the recipe nailed. I only had my mother's hand-written recipe to follow, so…well, I went through a lot of trial-and-error, to say the least."

Mycroft noticed the sadness that had filled Molly's eyes before forcefully blinking it away. His mind recalled parts of the background check he'd ran on her years ago, when it became apparent that Sherlock would work with no other pathologist. _Mother died when she was five, after complications from the birth of her little brother. Father died when she was in medical school of pancreatic cancer. Brother currently deployed to Afghanistan as a lieutenant in his unit, with the job of translator. In short, no family to spend the holidays with this year._

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Mycroft moved towards her, making sure not to get too close. "How is your brother?" he asked, in a gentle voice he couldn't remember using before. "I believe he is stationed in Qandahar right now, yes?"

Molly looked surprised for a moment, but then nodded. "Of course you would know that…um, David's good. I was able to have a good long chat with him over Skype today while I baked. Wish he could have come home but, well, what can you do?" She cleared her throat and then leaned forward a bit, her tones hushed. "And, um, how's _your_ little…"

"_My_ little brother? Don't worry, Molly, we may speak freely in here. As far as I know, he is fine and safely undercover. I cannot go into details, but I'm sure that he does not give a hoot what day it is. As you can imagine, he does not really care for this holiday." _Neither do I, but this one is becoming…more tolerable._

Molly lowered her head, as if in embarrassment. "Yes, I know," she said, her voice harking to the past. He realized that she must be thinking of last year's Christmas, when he'd went with Sherlock to her morgue over some very unpleasant business indeed.

Determined to distract her from her current morose musings, Mycroft walked back to the coffee table and said genuinely, "Well, you've most certainly got the recipe right this year; they are…_sublime_."

Molly's sad face immediately changed into a bright and happy smile. "Well, they're all yours, along with the brownies and little fruitcakes in there."

Mycroft looked down at the container with both longing and deep conflict. Molly noticed.

"What is it?" she asked, stepping a bit closer to him.

Mycroft heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, looking more awkward or uncomfortable than Molly had ever seen him. "Nothing would please me more, but…" A sour look appeared on his face as he looked the container. "I'm sure that my darling brother has mentioned how I have…well, that I…sometimes feel the need to…diet."

He heard Molly take a soft step closer to him, and when he looked at her, the expression in her doe brown eyes was gentle and warm. No one had looked at him like that since he had been young. "He did say once or twice that you have a sweet tooth. He put it in much ruder terms, but…from where I stand you look no more wide around the waist than me."

Mycroft snorted in disbelief as he looked away from her, his cheeks burning. _Is she joking? She probably hasn't got an ounce of unseemly fat on her figure, despite those over-sized and hideous though oddly charming outfits she wears. She's a wisp of a thing, and these suits are tailor-designed to make me appear as slim as a man can be. If she saw me out of it, then she would certainly – wait, what am I thinking of? No one is seeing anybody naked! _

A small clearing of the throat brought him back to the present situation. "Well, I'll tell you what," Molly said in a chipper voice, determined to make everything all right again. "We'll just leave the container here. If it's sealed tight, then the goodies inside will keep. We'll both partake of them whenever we come here, so that we can share them and you don't have to feel guilty about overindulging." She picked up the container, still looking at him. "But, Mycroft, you shouldn't have to feel guilty about this. If there's ever a time where indulging in sweets is allowed, it's Christmas."

She looked and sounded so earnest, so honest, that Mycroft could only give a small nod in response before reaching into the container she held and taking out a brownie. She grinned, pulled out a Christmas cookie, and touched it to his brownie in a toast. "Cheers! I'll just put this on the desk, so we won't eat everything at once."

After doing that and sealing the container shut, Molly turned back around to look at Mycroft. He was holding his present from her in his hands. Now nervous butterflies filled her stomach. "Oh, um, yes, that's for you." She slowly walked back to him, expecting him to open it but instead he seemed to be examining it. At this, Molly couldn't help but snort. "Deducing again?"

He immediately stopped and looked at her. "Forgive me, Molly. It's an old habit I'd forgotten I had. This is how Sherlock and I always opened our gifts as children. And as brothers, we of course made a competition out of it." _And I won every year, _he thought, inwardly smirking. "Used to drive Mummy absolutely mental." He said this last part more to himself than to her, but her giggle at this made him smile.

"You're forgiven, but please stop deducing and just open it," she said, clasping her hands together. "Sorry, I don't mean to snap, it's…you're just a very difficult person to think of a gift for."

Her statement of annoyance and frustration was so adorable that Mycroft chuckled as he carefully pulled away the wrapping paper. What he saw was…well, his deduction had, for the first time, been wrong. In a box were several neatly-folded handkerchiefs. They were made of fine linen, like ones men used to always carry, smaller and made of less delicate stuff than women's. In the corners of each had been embroidered in red thread very neatly in an elegant font: _MH._

"My gran taught me how to handle a needle before she passed on," Molly explained nervously, beginning to ramble. "She used to have handkerchiefs, and she gave me some to make my own. I hadn't done it in a very long time, but it's actually quite lucky that we both have the same initials or you might only have gotten one. I hope you don't mind them, it's just you always wear suits and that gave me the idea, and this room reminds me of something out of an old novel, so…"

Her voice drifted as her eyes took in what Mycroft had done while she had been rambling: he had lifted out a handkerchief, folded it even more neatly, and tucked it into the front pocket of his blazer, the white corner peeping out elegantly. He was smiling at her. "Thank you, Molly, very much."

She let out a great sigh of relief, and nodded. "You're very welcome, Mycroft."

Now Mycroft seemed to take on a nervous air, though he tried to hide it, as he bent down to rifle through his elegant briefcase. When he straightened up, Mycroft had an elegantly wrapped parcel in his hand, which he held out to her. "For you."

Molly's eyes widened, taking it as if it were made of the finest glass. "Mycroft, you didn't have to –"

"One, it would be the height of rudeness to not give you a gift when you went to the trouble of giving me one," Mycroft interrupted. "And two, though I may not care much for this sort of thing, it _is _Christmas and you do."

Out of excuses, Molly unwrapped her gift as carefully as she held it. Now she held a book in her hand, old and bound with fine moleskin. The cover read: _The Complete Ghost Stories of M.R. James._

"Oh, wow, this is lovely," she said, smiling at Mycroft. "I've heard of him, but I haven't read anything by him. He must be good if you're giving it to me."

Mycroft's posture relaxed at her reaction, and he smiled almost shyly. "I've always admired his stories. He was a scholar and professor at Cambridge, and would read one of his stories aloud to his students every year at Christmas. They are meant to entertain as much as frighten, and I thought, being a pathologist, you are not as squeamish about these things."

"And you would be right," she said, still smiling. "Thank you so much, it's such a thoughtful gift." A spark came into her eyes. "But you know what would make it better?"

Mycroft, who honestly did not know the answer, shrugged.

Molly gave him back the book. "Read it aloud."

_That_ he had not expected. "Oh! Umm…really?"

The young woman flopped down onto the comfortable couch. "Why not? We have the perfect atmosphere: Christmas evening, December wind and snow wailing outside, an old-fashioned study, a roaring fire. Besides, stories like this are much better when read aloud." A cloud of doubt passed over her eyes. "Unless you don't want to, of course. I just thought –"

"What an excellent proposition," Mycroft again interrupted her ramblings, smiling in excitement as he seated himself on the lounge chair beside the sofa, both before the roaring fire. "And I would be delighted."

With that, they exchanged a smile before Mycroft opened the book to the first story and Molly held one of the sofa pillows to her chest in anticipation.

And thus a friendship was born on that Christmas evening.

* * *

**A/N: **_So there's your Christmas present: a beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-Mollcroft Christmas! And FYI, those cookies described in the chapter do exist: I'm eating and enjoying one right now. But I'm afraid the recipe is a family secret. Happy Holidays to all!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

The first day of 2012 in London turned out to be unexpectedly sunny, even with the crisp winter air whipping about. Molly immediately was glad that she had braided her hair today; she only liked her hair being blown wildly about by the wind when it was warm. She'd been working the overnight shift when the years had changed, so she'd missed all of the excitement, parties, and airings of "When Harry Met Sally." That didn't really bother Molly, though, especially since she didn't have anybody to kiss at midnight. And anyway, she had the DVD all ready to go tonight.

She was now making her way from the tube station to Baker Street, after having slept through the morning after her shift. Now she felt refreshed but nowhere near ready for the task she had set herself today. She certainly felt like she'd put it off long enough, and it was a new year now, the perfect day for fresh starts. Yes, this was a bit overdue, but Molly would try her best to keep the promise she'd made to Sherlock.

But when she turned onto Baker Street and Sherlock's block, the first sight to greet her eyes was a small moving van, parked right in front of Speedy's. Which could only mean…_Oh, John,_ thought Molly, her heart sinking.

Picking up her pace, Molly made her way towards the building and the van. As she came to a stop, John came out of the front door, a box in his hands and a grim determination on his face. Her worst suspicions confirmed, Molly stopped when she reached the van. She waited until John had loaded his box before speaking. "Hello, John."

He turned in the direction of her voice, and when his eyes fell on her, John grimaced and turned away for a moment. When he looked at her again, Molly could see that it was taking a great deal of strength to hold that indifferent façade. "Hello, Molly. Not sure who put you up to this, to try and persuade me to change my mind, or if you just think you're speaking on his behalf."

"John, whatever you're thinking, that's not it!" said Molly, surprised not only at his words, but how cold he was being towards her. "I didn't know you were moving, I swear. I only wanted to see how you were doing."

John let out a humorless laugh and looked at the sky. "Ah, of course. Everybody always needs to be checking up on me. What are you all so afraid of? That I'll follow in his footsteps and pretend to fly? Well, let me tell you: I'll be a hell of a lot better once I'm away from here."

"No, John, I would never think that! I only –"

"Just _shut up!_" he yelled.

Molly flinched so badly that she jumped, and her vision blurred with tears. Forcefully, she blinked them back. In her refreshed visibility, Molly saw that John was grimacing and rubbing his forehead, trying to calm himself down. When he looked at her again, there _was _a forced calm on his face, but the anguish in his eyes was clear as day.

"Look, Molly, the only reason I know you at all is because of him. And right now, all I want is to put as much distance as I can between myself and anything that really reminds me of him. So just…I know you mean well, but please…_leave me alone_."

With that, John practically stormed back inside of the building. Tears refilled Molly's eyes, but she wiped them away before they could fall down her cold cheeks. She turned to walk away when her eyes caught the window of Mrs. Hudson's flat; she could see some movement behind the thin curtains.

Resolving to be strong and do what she could, Molly quickly entered the building – wary of running into John in such a state again – and knocked on the door of 221A. Thankfully, the door was opened quickly by Mrs. Hudson. The poor woman had obviously been crying, with red eyes and shaking hands, but she tried to put on a cheerful disposition when she saw Molly.

"Oh, hello dear! Come in, come in!" She ushered Molly inside and immediately made a beeline for what Molly saw was her kitchen. "I was just about to put the kettle on. Wasn't expecting visitors, though, so I'm not sure if I have any biscuits or not."

Molly shut the door behind her and followed Mrs. Hudson. Upon entering the kitchen, she found the older woman rifling through her cabinets almost frantically. "Oh, dear…" she was muttering to herself. "I was sure I had a tin up here…or maybe it was down here…"

Her heart twisting with grief and guilt, Molly reached out and touched Mrs. Hudson's shoulder. The landlady's frantic actions stopped, and she turned to Molly. All Molly could think to say was, in a voice thick with emotion, "I'm really going to miss them, too"

Mrs. Hudson's face crumbled and covered her face with her hands. "I'm just being so silly!"

Without a hesitation, Molly wrapped her arms around the good woman. "You are anything but, Mrs. Hudson."

As Mrs. Hudson let herself grieve on Molly's shoulder, Molly let herself shed a few tears of her own as she prayed this good woman, as well as Greg and John, would forgive her when this nightmare was over.

* * *

That late afternoon, Molly went to the Diogenes Club, wanting nothing more than to escape from a world she felt she was lying to for a while. At least in that room, shared only with Mycroft, she could be completely honest. When she arrived a little after five o'clock, Henry told her that Mycroft was in their private room, which pleased her. They hadn't seen each other since Christmas, and she wanted to talk to him anyway.

When she entered the sanctuary – it seemed the most appropriate term for this room to her – she saw that Mycroft was at his desk, his head bent over some paperwork. Not wanting to interrupt him, Molly removed her outerwear and settled herself on one end of the sofa. She watched the flames of the lit fire in the grate, letting her mind wander.

Molly didn't realize just how far it had wandered until she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turned her head abruptly, and saw that Mycroft was sitting on the other side of the sofa with a curious and amused expression on his usually impassive face.

Chuckling in embarrassment, Molly lowered her head and looked at her hands wringing in her lap. "Sorry. I didn't want to disturb you in the middle of something, and I sort of…spaced out."

"That's quite all right," he replied easily. "It wasn't anything important, just mundane. There is something you want to talk about?"

Molly nodded and looked back up at him. "I know you have some kind of security detail on Sherlock's three friends. I'd greatly appreciate it if you could give me updates on John every now and again. I don't want to spy on him, but…it's the only way I can know how he's doing."

Mycroft nodded solemnly. "Do you need the same for Mrs. Hudson and Inspector Lestrade?"

Molly shook her head. "I see Greg on a pretty regular basis when our work overlaps, and today I promised Mrs. Hudson that I would visit her at least once a week. But John…well, I promised Sherlock I would look after them all while he was gone, and I want to keep my word in whatever way I can. If it's too much to ask, I understand."

"Molly, of course it is not too much trouble," said Mycroft firmly. "How often would you like an update?"

"Um…well, not every day or anything like that. I don't want to cross the line from keeping an eye to spying."

Mycroft nodded. "How about an update on the first of every month? And I will also let you know if anything…well, anything to worry about were to happen."

Molly nodded and managed a small smile. "Thank you, that would be fine." She turned her gaze back to the fire in the grate, and let out a sigh. "I'm sure he won't do anything…foolish…he's a soldier, after all, like my brother. Keep calm, carry on, and all that."

"I agree," said Mycroft. "But I am sorry that he foolishly lashed out at you."

Molly shook her head. "No, no, I don't blame him at all. He's grieving, and there one always must give at least the benefit of the doubt. I went through that when I lost my father, but to watch your best friend jump...Besides, I imagine I'll get much worse from John when Sherlock comes back."

"Dr. Watson is a good and reasonable man, Molly, he will understand in time."

Molly sighed. "God, I hope so..."

Silence followed, but it wasn't uncomfortable; each could sense the other was lost in their own thoughts and not to be disturbed. Surprisingly, it was Mycroft who eventually broke the silence.

"When I first met Dr. Watson, I came to the conclusion that he would be the making of my brother or make him worse than ever…I am very pleased to say that he proved to be the former."

Molly nodded, a small smile on her face. "Absolutely. He really changed Sherlock for the better. Made him more…well, I've always known he was as human as anybody, but John certainly helped him not hide it so much anymore. I mean, I know that Sherlock would _never _have apologized to me at that Christmas party if John hadn't entered his life."

"I agree," said Mycroft, turning his head to look at her. When he saw the tinge of sadness in her small smile, he understood it with his own twinge of sadness. He couldn't quite help the next words he spoke, but at least they came out gently. "You wish it could have been you."

Molly immediately stiffened her posture in reaction, but soon sagged as she ran a hand through her loose hair. She kept her steady gaze on the fire. "When you have a crush on someone, you always hope to bring out the best in them, let alone wish they returned your feelings. On both of those fronts, I failed…" She sighed softly. "I'm not surprised, though. I'm just one ordinary person in a sea of billions. Not enough to inspire anybody to go out of the way or be out-of-the-ordinary."

The tone of her voice was resigned rather than sad, but this only served to anger Mycroft. He kept it in check, however, his gaze turning back to the fire for a few silent moments as he carefully decided his next words.

"Molly…you were very key in successfully performing the biggest death hoax this country has ever seen. You also are the first person since Mummy to pull a genuine apology from my little brother, no matter what influence John Watson has been to him. Furthermore…you are the first person in many years that I may call a friend…At least, I hope that I may."

Molly turned her head to look at Mycroft, surprise and compassion written in every cell of her face. He did not look at her, but kept his gaze directly on the fire. Though the expression on his face was its usual neutral cool, Molly's eye caught a tiny movement from his right hand. His thumb and forefinger were ever-so-slightly rubbing together at a rapid pace, giving away the vulnerability he was feeling at what he'd just said.

And just like that, one of Mycroft's many layers was peeled away before Molly's eyes. Through her few one-on-one interactions with him – and through the few snide comments that Sherlock had made – Molly had made several deductions about the elder Holmes brother: extremely intelligent, very self-controlled, and quite alone in the universe. All three of these qualities were qualities he shared with his brother, but Mycroft had all three in greater quantities. But what set him apart from his brother completely was something else, something good and pure that Molly couldn't quite name yet, but she would try as time went on.

So, keeping her gaze fixed on his face, Molly reached out a hand and gently touched his own. His fingers stilled and he turned his head to look at her in complete shock. She smiled at him warmly. "Of course you may, Mycroft, and I am honored to call you mine."

Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, Molly withdrew her hand and folded hers in her lap. She was glad that she had not given away her surprise when she'd touched his hand; it was much warmer than one would think the hand of "The Iceman" would be.

"Well," she said, standing up and walking to the door, "I feel much better, now that I've talked to you and now that we're friends. I'll leave you to your work and –"

"Molly, either now or in the future, you never need stay out of this room if I am in here," said Mycroft, still looking at her as he stood up. "You needn't rush away now, unless you already have plans, of course."

Molly chuckled as she put on her coat, scarf and hat. "Only eating Indian take-away, drinking red wine, and watching _When Harry Met Sally._ As a friend, I'd invite you to join me, but I imagine a classic romantic comedy is far from your idea of entertainment."

Mycroft's face took on a truly comical expression, which made Molly laugh whole-heartedly.

"That's what I thought. See you later, Mycroft!"

Mycroft stood standing there like that for a good sixty seconds after she had left, flexing the hand that she had touched. She had misinterpreted the comical look on his face: it wasn't disgusted, it was _conflicted_. But Mycroft soon snapped out of it with a huff and returned to his desk. _It's for the best, _he thought firmly as he settled himself back behind the desk. _I do need to finish this tedious paperwork, and she's right that I wouldn't possibly enjoy such a film with her…would I?_

* * *

**A/N: **_I'm so sorry this took a while! Work, being sick, and being the lead in a community theatre production really guzzled up all of my time. But now that the show is over, I'm once again more free to write. Please read and review!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

While the start of the new year is a very popular time to create new resolutions for oneself, neither Molly Hooper nor Mycroft Holmes created any such resolutions for that reason. However, in the following months, new resolutions were made and kept by the both of them that had nothing to do with the new year. However, though neither would know it until much later, they did have everything to do with the friendship that had been born between them.

* * *

"Where does it come from?" Molly asked absently as she hung up her coat, one mid-January afternoon.

"Could you be more specific?" asked Mycroft, getting up from behind his desk.

Molly gave him a tiny smile. "You have a big brain. Can't you figure it out?"

Mycroft laughed, something that he had been doing more often since becoming friends with Molly. He liked it when she teased him, for no one else ever did. In his government position, he had to be intimidating; here, in the Diogenes Club with Molly, he did not have to be. "As a licensed doctor, surely you know that the size of the brain has nothing to do with intelligence level," he teased right back. "And I'm sure I could deduce what you mean if I really wanted to, but I'm feeling a bit lazy right now, so please clarify for me?"

Molly laughed in return, plopping herself down on her side of the sofa. "The Diogenes Club. A bit of an odd name. Where does it come from?"

"Ah, I wondered when you would ask about that," said Mycroft, sitting down on his own side of the sofa after taking down his own copy of M.R. James' ghost stories. "The name comes from the Greek philosopher, who lived several centuries before Christ. He exhibited great contempt for riches and honors, as well as those who valued them above all things; he also was a great promoter of the self-sufficiency of the individual over the community." He chuckled. "My favorite anecdote about him is that, supposedly, he used to walk the streets of Athens during the day with a lit lamp. He claimed that he was looking for a truly honest man."

Both of them laughed heartily. "How appropriate," said Molly after her giggles had calmed. "Very appropriate for such an ironic place. After all, the definition of a club is a place where people of common interests can share and connect with each other. Here, everyone shares a common purpose, and that is to make an island unto him-or-herself."

"Quite right," said Mycroft, nodding. "We hold no contempt for each other. On the contrary, we hold a great respect, even if none of us have been introduced."

"Because you come here with a shared purpose, and are honest about it."

Mycroft smiled at her, reminded again of just how bright and intuitive he was. He lifted the book he was holding. "Shall you read today, or shall I?"

Molly took the book from him. "You've read more than me so far, so let's even it out."

Mycroft settled back into the sofa, pleased by her choice. He enjoyed hearing her read aloud because she had never read these stories before, and enjoyed hearing her surprise and excitement rise and fall in her voice.

* * *

"Alright, enough about me, Mo. Tell me what's going on with you."

Molly groaned, now that the brother and sister had arrived at her least favorite part of the conversation. Whenever she talked to David, whether over the phone or Skype, she always started the conversation by asking every question she could about how him: how was he doing physically, were they in a generally safe location, any stories from camp, etc. David would always answer each question honestly and thoroughly, but he would never end their conversation until he had gotten the answers to his own questions about his big sister.

In reply, Molly sighed and leaned back against her headboard. Her brother's face on her laptop's screen showed he was willing to wait all day for an honest answer. "Honestly…it's alright. Getting better each day, you know? Not a day goes by when I don't expect him to walk into the lab and demand a foot, but…I know to expect it now."

It broke Molly's heart that she had to lie to her little brother about Sherlock's death, but it helped that what she had just told him and had been telling him was the truth. Just because she knew that Sherlock was alive didn't mean that she didn't miss him (even his less than desirable qualities, which she had become all too familiar with in the years she had known him).

She watched David nod in understanding. Though Molly had never given him the gory details of when Sherlock did anything "a bit not good" with her, he knew how much Molly cared for him and thankfully never pushed her about it. He didn't do that now, either, and changed the subject.

"That's good, Mo. Just let time go by, and it will do most of the work for you. What about work? You aren't overstraining yourself, are you?"

Molly shook her head. "No, don't worry, D. I won't deny that work helps pass the time and keep my mind occupied, but I'm not taking overtime unless I have to now."

"Good, that's good. What are you doing in your free time, then?"

"Well," said Molly, giving a small smile now. "I've taken up the piano again."

David beamed. "Really? Good for you, Mo! That's fantastic! I remember how good you were and how much you loved it when we were kids!"

"I wouldn't say I was _that _good but I did love it and do now, too. It wasn't as hard as I thought to get back on the bench, so to speak. Mycroft's been a great help in giving me the right music to start again with, and letting me practice on his beautiful cabinet piano."

"Mycroft? Who's Mycroft?"

"Oh!" Molly exclaimed guiltily. "Have I not mentioned him before? Well, we've only been friends for a month or so. Mycroft is, I mean _was_, Sherlock's older brother. I'd known of him and briefly met him a few times before, but it wasn't until recently that we started getting to know each other."

"That's great," said David, smiling compassionately at his sister. "He must miss his brother even more than you do, so I'm glad that you're connecting with someone in the same boat as you."

_You don't know the half of it, _thought Molly.

"So, he's a good player?" asked David.

"Mm-hm. Mycroft is as proficient at the piano as Sherlock is…_was_…with the violin. He offered to help me reconnect with the instrument, and in return, I'm helping him develop an exercise routine."

David chuckled. "You two going swimming together, then?"

"No!" said Molly, blushing. "He wants to try jogging."

"Oh, yeah, that was your exercise in Uni before you switched to swimming laps," said David, nodding. "Well, good luck to the both of you in your resolutions."

There came an official-sounding call from off-camera on David's end, and he immediately sat up straighter. "Sorry, Mo, I've gotta go," he said apologetically. "Duty calls."

"Okay, D," she said, wishing, like always when these conversations ended, that she could hug him good-bye. "Be careful and stay safe."

"Yes, big sister," he said, smiling and blowing her a kiss.

Molly blew one right back just before his image on her screen disappeared.

* * *

The final notes of "Fur Elise" were played gently and softly, Molly's fingers holding the keys down with her fingers and the brass pedal down with her foot so they gently faded into the sound of the crackling fire. She released a breath and turned to Mycroft, who stood at the piano beside her.

He was smiling and gave his head a nod. "Very good, Molly. You're progressing beautifully. I hope your own confidence has grown."

Molly shrugged. "I think so, but I won't be asking to play at the Albert Hall any time soon. Not that I ever really would – I'd probably have to wear heels."

Mycroft chuckled as he walked towards the easy chair. Molly watched him over her shoulder, and her gaze sharpened when she saw how stiff his stride was, and the way he winced a bit as he sat down.

"Mycroft, how many times have you ran this week?"

Looking at her, Mycroft saw that Molly would be able to see through any lie he told the way she could see through his little brother. This didn't surprise him, and secretly, it pleased him. "Five times."

"It's Friday!" said Molly, giving him an exasperated look. "You're still a beginner with this, Mycroft. You know perfectly well that you need to take it slow and run every other day, not every day."

Mycroft rolled his eyes but nodded. "I know," he said, looking into the fire.

Molly sighed, turning on the bench to face him. A gently teasing smile was on her face. "What do I need to say? That you are the definition of a 'tall and slim' build? That you are in no danger of growing as wide as your favorite kind of cream puff? That my new nickname for you is 'daddy long legs'?"

Mycroft cracked by giving her an amused grimace that made Molly giggle. "You would compare me to a spider, Dr. Hooper? I don't know whether to be offended or flattered!" Their expressions sobered in the following quiet moment, until Mycroft said seriously, "Every other day."

Molly nodded. "And in a few week, it will be spring and the jogging paths will not be icy. That will give you some fresh air and really help you along." She turned back to the cabinet piano, running a finger over the carvings above the keys. "Such a beautiful instrument," she said. "Where did you buy it?"

"I didn't buy it," replied Mycroft softly. "It was a gift from its maker."

"Wow!" said Molly, still entranced by the wave and petal patterns in the rosewood of the instrument. "You must have really helped them out."

Mycroft gave a short laugh. "If anything, I only made my father's life more challenging growing up."

Molly turned around on the bench very quickly indeed with wide eyes. "Your…your father made this?"

He was smiling indulgently at her shock. "Surprised that my father is a carpenter and not the secret dictator of the free world?"

Molly looked down at her lap in embarrassment, running a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry, I…I honestly never knew what to think or believe about where you and Sherlock came from, so I never let myself jump to any conclusions…though I suppose my reaction shows that I did make some, unconsciously."

"It's quite alright, Molly," said Mycroft, and he meant it. "And I'm glad that you appreciate my father's work, for he is truly an artist in his field."

Suddenly, Mycroft's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out to look at the message he had received. "My PA is informing me that my presence is needed by the prime minister."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" asked Molly, a small worry line forming between her eyes.

Mycroft could not help the warm feeling in his chest when he witness this. He knew that she was not asking to be nosy, but because she did not want him to work well into the night. "I doubt it, the message does not sound urgent." He stood up and gathered his things, giving her a smile. "See you Sunday, Molly."

"Have fun, Mycroft," said Molly.

After he left, Molly briefly wondered how he had known she would next come back to the Diogenes Club on Sunday. Then she remembered that she had the second shift tomorrow and the day off Sunday.

Molly laughed, glad that _this _Holmes brother did not use knowing her work schedule to cater to his needs but rather work their time together around it.

* * *

One afternoon in the last week of March, Molly sat in her office, nervously tapping her pen against the paperwork she was trying to complete while she waited for someone who intimidated more than either Holmes brother.

And she arrived right on time, thankfully with her blackberry in her hand at her side rather than in front of her face. "Hello, Dr. Hooper," said Anthea, the barest hint of a smile on her face. "What can I do for you?"

Molly swallowed, forcing herself not to be intimidated. She always felt like this around beautiful women who were perfectly put together – perfect clothing, perfect make-up, perfect hair – and made her feel self-conscious in the worst way. But she resolutely ignored it, remembering that she had asked to meet Anthea. Mycroft had given her Anthea's number not long after they became friends, stating that she would help Molly with anything she needed if he was not available.

Well, Molly had a reason for reaching out to this mysterious PA now for a reason that Mycroft probably never expected.

"Thank you for coming," said Molly. "I was wondering if you could…help me with something. You see, I know that Mycroft's birthday is next week."

Anthea raised an eyebrow, and let her smile show a little bit more. "How do you know that? If it were up to him, his own parents would forget about it."

"Well," said Molly, twisting her fingers on her lap. "Last year, I remember Sherlock telling John in the lab that he was sending a large chocolate cake from a client who was a baker to his brother's home as a happy birthday. He thought it was quite funny, and now I understand why."

The two women shared an exasperated eye-roll.

"And you would rather give him a more thoughtful gift?" asked Anthea, already knowing the answer.

Molly nodded. "I know how private of a man he is, and of course I don't want to do anything that will make him uncomfortable. But I don't want to pass up an opportunity that I can express my immense gratitude for all he is doing for me. Just the fact that he is willing to be my friend is reason enough for me to give him the highest praise I can give. But…I wouldn't know where to begin with a man who appears to be able to get anything he wants, so I need help from someone who knows what he needs."

Anthea's smile had grown, small but genuine. "I know that he returns those sentiments, Dr. Hooper."

"Call me Molly, please. And that is nice to hear."

Anthea nodded and said elusively, "Exercise is not the only way that Mr. Holmes is trying to improve his health and reduce his weight with."

A few seconds, and then a relieved and happy look crossed Molly's face. "Oh, thank you, Anthea! Um, is it okay if I call you that?"

Anthea actually laughed. "Of course. Anything else I can help you with?"

Molly bit her lip nervously. "If you wouldn't mind being a little sneaky…"

Anthea's smile became a smirk. "Molly, I am the executive personal assistant to the man behind the British Government. Sneaking is my specialty."

* * *

On the morning of the third of April, Mycroft entered his residence feeling exhausted, sweaty, but quite satisfied with his performance. London was a marvelous city for walking, running, and people who minded their own business while out in public. No one ever looked twice at him when he ran, and for that he was extremely grateful. He felt self-conscious enough in his running gear.

He walked into his kitchen to drink some water before taking a shower. As he filled a glass, Mycroft noticed a pile of hand-written papers on his countertop. The only other person who had access to his flat was Anthea, so he wondered why she would leave them here rather than text him any new information.

But when he picked them up and saw what they were, Mycroft realized that Anthea had only been the messenger of an angel. He noticed a sealed white envelope with his name on it in the same writing as the papers, and immediately picked it up. Opening it carefully, Mycroft pulled out the note inside, and his smile grew with each word he read:

_Dear Mycroft,_

_Please don't ask how I know it's your birthday (believe me, you won't like the story), but I just had to do something. Birthdays are supposed to be acknowledged as days of rejoicing that a person is alive in the world, and after everything you've done for me in the last five months, there is no way I could let that opportunity pass by._

_These recipes are all ones that I've learned either from my granny or from cookbooks and magazines. All are very simple to make, whether it can be made in a single pot or has only three ingredients. I had to learn these out of necessity, since I had to be the woman of the house for my father and brother, but hopefully you can learn these out of pleasure, knowing that each are healthy, fulfilling, and delicious._

_I know you don't want a fuss, which is why I listed Anthea's help (so please don't be mad at her, I asked so nicely she couldn't refuse). So, I hope you at least have a good day._

_Yours, Molly_

Filled with a warm gratitude that was so powerful and unfamiliar it was almost frightening, Mycroft immediately rushed to the shower after sending a quick text so it couldn't be taken back:

_I would hug you if it wouldn't make you uncomfortable. Thank you, my friend._

* * *

Molly couldn't see Mycroft until the next day because of work, but she was ready and waiting in their private room when he arrived at a quarter to five. Once he had entered the room, Molly approached him with a big smile on her face. She wrapped her arms around his torso and rested her cheek against his chest. "You're welcome, my friend," she whispered sweetly.

To his relief and her delight, Mycroft returned the embrace without hesitation or stiffness, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Because, to the both of them, that's exactly how it felt.

* * *

**A/N: **_Aww, aren't they adorable? It's a filler chapter, but at least things are progressing. You're going to have to be a bit patient though; I've got two years together, and this romance cannot be rushed. Don't worry, the story won't go over twenty chapters, and I appreciate your feedback. Go Mollcroft!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

One sunny Sunday afternoon in June, Molly was having her weekly get-together with Mrs. Hudson. Sometimes they would go out to a café or restaurant for lunch, and sometimes they would just stay in Baker Street for tea. This day had them both in the latter, chatting merrily away about the trailer that had just been released for the new season of _Downton Abbey, _their favorite program.

"All I know is that if they don't let that nice valet man of jail, I'll not be happy!" said Mrs. Hudson decisively. "With my colorful history, I learned who belongs in prison and who doesn't. Mr. Bates is not one of them!"

"I agree," said Molly, smiling. "And not just for him. Anna is my favorite, so I'm always going to want her to be happy."

"Ah, yes," said Mrs. Hudson, returning Molly's smile. "You're a lot like her, you know."

"Thank you!" said Molly, beaming at the lovely compliment.

"So, which am I like, then?" asked Mrs. Hudson eagerly.

Molly didn't have to think twice. "Mrs. Patmore. I'd say Mrs. Hughes, but as you used to always tell your most challenging tenant: _I'm not your housekeeper!_"

And Mrs. Hudson _laughed_. Molly reached across the table to hold her hand as she laughed with her. Both of them were so relieved that they could laugh about Sherlock now.

It's a bridge that everyone who goes through the grief of losing a loved one must come to. As long as they remember that the person they lost would _want _them to laugh, that laughing would not mean that they loved them any less, the bridge can be crossed. Mrs. Hudson had crossed it, and so had Lestrade. The last few times that he had come to the morgue to see a body, he would crack a joke to Molly about what Sherlock would do if he were here. John, from what she could glean from her monthly updates from Anthea, was just getting by and soldiering on. All of his focus and energy was pouring into his new practice, and thankfully it was paying off. But, from what Anthea said, just a smile was a rarity for John. All Molly could do was pray that time would work its medicine on the good doctor.

As their joint laughter calmed, Molly's mobile vibrated in her pocket with a text alert. She pulled it out and looked at the short message, which sent a cold chill straight through her heart:

_A car will pick you up in precisely one minute and bring you to the airport. Anthea will escort you to the jet. Please don't ask questions until we are off the ground. MH_

"Um," said Molly, hastily putting her phone away and getting up from the table. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'm afraid I need to leave now."

"Duty calls, eh?" said Mrs. Hudson, getting up as well. "Of course, you go on, put the resting at peace."

It had become Mrs. Hudson's favorite expression when seeing Molly off if she had to cut their outing short. This time, it made Molly's insides twist in fear, and she hugged Mrs. Hudson a bit tighter than she usually did.

"See you next week, Mrs. H," she said. "We'll go somewhere nice next time."

"I look forward to it, dear!" Mrs. Hudson called as Molly left with a wave.

Within seconds of Molly leaving the building, an elegant black car pulled up to the curb. Without hesitation, Molly let herself in and slid into the backseat; she'd barely closed the door when the car had started down the road again. As she had guessed, Anthea was seated beside her, and glued to her blackberry as usual. Molly remembered Mycroft's request and pressed her lips together for the entire ride, though she wanted more than anything to know what was going on. She knew, in her gut, it couldn't be good.

The car arrived at Heathrow in record time – at least, in Molly's mind, it did – and Anthea indicated that they should get out. Molly found that she had to jog a bit to keep up with the PA, who somehow managed to be elegant and put-together even at this rapid pace. They managed to bypass most of the security procedures by Anthea simply flashing some kind of badge to the officers (Molly wisely decided not to ask).

After what felt like running through the entire building, Anthea and Molly finally arrived at a small and isolated departure gate. "He's waiting for you," said Anthea simply, but then she squeezed her arm with a soft look before disappearing into the crowds of Heathrow. Molly, knowing that she couldn't do anything else, took a deep breath and went through the gate.

Though she had no ticket or passport with her, she managed to get onto the plane with no trouble. Entering the vehicle, she saw that it was a small jet, with a pristine interior and luxurious seats. Mycroft was the only passenger, sitting in the last row by a window. His face was tense and grim, reading something on his mobile. However, he seemed to sense her presence. Looking up at her, he beckoned for her to join him and also for her to stay silent. Remembering his text, Molly nodded and obeyed.

It took all of her willpower to honor Mycroft's request to stay silent until the plane had cleared the runway, but she only just managed to. As soon as she could, she turned to Mycroft and breathed, "What's happened to him? How badly is he hurt?"

Whatever surprise Mycroft felt at the fact that she had figured out the basic situation, he hid it well and answered immediately. "I honestly do not know, but it must be bad. He sent me the text that should only be sent when he needs immediate and critical help."

Molly heaved a deep, shaking sigh, forcing herself to stay calm. "Where exactly are we going? Or is it better that I don't know?"

"All I will say is that we are going to Berlin, but we will most definitely _not _be doing any sight-seeing."

Molly gave a nervous chuckle before she suddenly gasped. "Oh! I didn't bring a medical bag or anything! It all happened so quickly, and I'm not that kind of doctor, anyway –"

Mycroft hushed her with a gentle hand on her arm. "Do not worry, Molly. You will have everything you need."

His voice was so reassuring and gentle that Molly immediately breathed a little easier, squeezing his hand before he withdrew it.

For a while, the plane ride went on in very tense silence between the two. Molly tried to absorb herself in sudokus on her own mobile. It was the only thing that provided her mind with just a touch of distraction from this terrible situation. As foolish as it was, this was the first time that Molly really was faced with the possibility that Sherlock might not come back and go from figuratively dead to really and most sincerely dead. It's not that she believed him to be an invincible god or some divine creature. She just knew that, when Sherlock put his mind to something with the goal to succeed, there was precious little that could be a match against his will-power.

But, as Molly knew better than most, Sherlock was as human as anybody else, though he tried so hard not to be. That meant that he could be just as vulnerable, being only one body against an entire criminal network. Molly knew that now she had no choice but to face the ever-growing possibility that she and Mycroft would join John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson in true mourning.

The pathologist turned her head to look at her friend. His face was completely blank, though his jaw was clenched. Every few seconds, he would check his mobile discreetly and look back out the window, but there was no fooling Molly. He was just as, if not more, scared than her.

Wanting to tell him that she was here and would do everything she could, but not wanting to overdue it, Molly laid the forearm of her free hand on the armrest between them, palm up, and returned her attention to her sudoku.

And when she felt her hand become surrounded by warmth, she gripped it back for the rest of the plane flight.

* * *

Within twenty minutes of landing, Molly and Mycroft had come to the location where Sherlock was hidden. She'd asked him, as the plane landed, how they were going to find him. It turned out that the burn phone Sherlock carried had GPS which could only be accessed by Mycroft personally. The phone itself was an old model that no one would ever think was able to have GPS, but, just as with Molly and the Holmes brothers, appearances were deceptive.

Thankfully, his location was not far from the airport, and the two of them were able to get there on foot. They walked arm in arm so as not to be separated, blending in with the bustling crowds on the city streets. Mycroft's eyes were glued to the screen of his mobile; Molly kept up with him and tried not to look around too much.

The building they finally stopped at was part of what looked like a residential block, not standing out at all from the others beside it. Mycroft mimed putting a key in the lock before letting them both in. Once inside, Molly barely saw that the home looked like it hadn't been lived in in years before Mycroft dragged her down to the basement.

Once they had come down the stairs, the sight they saw made them gasp in reaction of how fearfully cold her hearts had turned. Sherlock was lying on a dirty mattress, out cold, pale as death and his leg a bloody mess.

"Oh, God," Molly murmured as she rushed to him, gripping the straps of the bag full of medical supplies Mycroft had provided for her.

But Mycroft reached him first, kneeling beside his head on the mattress. Tenderly, he lifted his brother's head and rested it on his lap. To both of their relief, Sherlock gave a small groan. "Lockie?" Mycroft breathed in a voice that Molly, before the Fall, would not believe he was capable of. "I'm here with Dr. Hooper. Can you hear me?"

After putting on some gloves, Molly took a closer look at the injured area. "Thank goodness he had the presence of mind to make a tourniquet out of his belt before he passed out, or he might have bled to death."

Mycroft's eyes met hers, and she'd never seen eyes filled with more fear. "Tell me what to do," he said, without any ounce of authority.

Molly took no time to wonder over the fact that the British Government himself was now working for her as she quickly went into doctor-mode. "He's lost a lot of blood, and needs fluids. Thankfully, I've got a few banana bags, but he'll need more than that. Go upstairs and get as much water as you can bring down here. Then, try to get him conscious again. I know if anyone can do it, his big brother can."

* * *

Molly and Mycroft did not sleep a wink that night. All of their energy and efforts were spent in making sure Sherlock did not become officially dead. Thankfully, the damage could have been a lot worse.

The wound in his thigh turned out to be a stab wound from a pocket knife, but it had come very close to contact with the femoral artery. Thankfully it hadn't, or Sherlock would have died long before he could have called for help. Cleaning, stitching and bandaging the wound hadn't been a problem; the night provided harder tasks. Sherlock was weak, having been in a physical fight when he'd received the wound, so he had other bruises and cuts. He even ran a small fever at one point, but that was just the shock and thankfully not an infection. Mycroft only left his side to get water, holding his brother's head in his lap as he kept Sherlock from unconsciousness.

Now, in the early morning, all three were exhausted. Sherlock, having a good grasp on consciousness now, could now sit up with his back against a wall as he told Mycroft what had happened to him. Molly purposefully tried not to listen as she changed his dressings, knowing that both brothers did not want her to know any particulars of Sherlock's mission. If she wasn't required in the room, she would have left, but as it was, she tuned them out as best she could. Judging from the fact that Mycroft was pacing restlessly back and forth, and Sherlock was clenching and unclenching his fists, and the situation that Sherlock had landed himself in…of course it wasn't a pleasant chat.

"_DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?!_"

This made Molly jump, understandably, and turn to Mycroft. He'd stopped pacing, his face flushed from shouting. He continued in a more normal tone, but the rage in his voice hadn't dissipated at all.

"What were you thinking? No, clearly you _weren't _thinking rushing in like that. I don't care how perfect the opportunity seemed at the time; you were _stupid _not to realize that you would be vastly outnumbered."

Sherlock's fists and jaw clenched very tightly. In a quiet voice, he said, "I made a mistake."

"_A mistake? _You would have been home for Christmas if not for that _mistake. _It has not only lengthened this mission by at least another year, but one that very nearly put you _in a pine box_!"

Sherlock's fists pounded on the mattress as he yelled, "_Why the fuck do you care_? If it were up to you, I'd have died long ago!"

"_Sherlock_!" Molly involuntarily shrieked. She had wanted to leave this between the two of them, but hearing Sherlock say something so terrible – more terrible than anything he'd ever said to her or in front of her – floored her. It also made her furious, having gotten to know Mycroft and seeing how frightened he'd been coming here, that Sherlock could ever accuse Mycroft of something so horrible.

Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to realize he'd said the worst thing he could have said right after it had come out of his mouth. His already pale face became even whiter, and though he tried to stay defiant, the fear that bloomed on his face bloomed like a funeral lily.

Slowly, fearfully, Molly turned her head to look at Mycroft. He was standing very still, his posture stiff and his head lowered. He took one, then two, very slow steps to the right…and then snapped. Quick as lightning, he swung his fist around and shattered a nearly empty water jug. Molly covered her mouth as she jumped, involuntarily letting out a squeak. Even Sherlock jumped a little.

Clenching his now bleeding fist, Mycroft walked to the basement door and opened it. He turned his head to the side, but did not look at Sherlock as he addressed him in a soft, loaded voice:

"_Do not make me do this again, Sherlock."_

And then he was gone, the door slamming violently behind him.

* * *

An hour later, Molly and Mycroft were back on the plane, flying back to England. They sat in their same seats, Mycroft sitting still as Molly took care of his hand. She spoke in a soft voice. "I made sure he listened to the instructions I gave him. He's given me his word that he will not leave his hideout until he is healed, and conduct all his work from his computer until then." She gulped. "I reminded him to be careful, to finish his mission, and come home to those who love him and end this nightmare that Moriarty put us all in."

Mycroft gave a small nod, his gaze on his lap. All of the anger she'd seen from him an hour ago had vanished, replaced by something…haunted and filled with pain. It made her think about the horrible thing that Sherlock had said…she knew that it could never be true, but she also knew that there had to be a very painful history and reason as to why he would ever say that.

With compassion and determination, Molly reached out and lifted Mycroft's chin with her finger, making sure he met her eyes. "I will not ask, but I will always listen." She meant it with her whole heart, and she needed him to know that this was a solemn and true promise.

And thankfully, he did. He only nodded, but the look in his eyes said all of the things that he couldn't say. In that moment, if Mycroft had believed in angels, he would have sworn that Molly Hooper was one.

* * *

**A/N: **_A bit of an angsty one here. Necessary, I think, especially considering the circumstances the two of them are in. I didn't have the energy or the brains to go into more details about Sherlock's big mistake – wanted to keep the focus on our two main characters – but it's probably along the lines of Sherlock jumping the gun on a key player in the network, overestimating himself or really impatient to get back home. Also, you see that there are some family secrets yet to be revealed…why indeed would Sherlock say such a horrible, and untrue, thing?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

"Finally, a day without rain or any word synonymous with water falling from the sky!" exclaimed Molly joyfully as she and Mycroft walked through Kensington Gardens. This particular August had thus far been a wet one, and Molly wanted as many sunny days as possible in her birthday month.

Mycroft chuckled, hiding the nerves of nervous excitement that were jumping around in the vicinity of his stomach. "Yes, it's quite apropos for today."

Molly, assuming he meant the fact that they had decided to take a walk today, come rain or shine since the weather was driving them stir-crazy, turned her head to him. "Then answer me this, Secret Agent Man," she said, using her favorite nickname for him (which he couldn't deny that he liked quite a bit). "Why carry your brolly with you even if there is no chance of rain?"

Mycroft shot her a mysterious, teasing smirk. "I am afraid a truthful answer to that question is classified by the British Government, with a reminder not to judge a book by its cover or a brolly by its façade."

Molly laughed, and as he always did whenever he was the cause of her doing so, his entire heart warmed. These eight months of having a true friend had been…pleasant. In all honesty, the only time in Mycroft's life that he could remember as pleasant were the first ten years of his live. However, he could not look back on that time without bringing a heavy gloom over him that was not easily shakable. So, right now, Mycroft much preferred to live in the pleasant present. Of course it wasn't perfect, especially with Sherlock being officially dead, but having a true friend made up for a hell of a lot.

"Oh, good! I was hoping we could come here today."

Molly's soft exclamation brought Mycroft out of his musings. When he saw what Molly was referring to, Mycroft smirked as his nerves lit up in excitement. They had come to the statue of Peter Pan, and unusually for such a lovely summer day, the area was almost completely deserted. The only other person nearby was a man in his late twenties sitting on a bench reading a book.

"Did your father often take you and your brother here to play?" asked Mycroft, though he had already been given this information – just not from Molly.

"Oh, yes, quite often," replied Molly, her eyes roaming over the statue and the area she remembered so fondly. "It was David's favorite story, hands down. He loved imagining that he was Peter Pan, and we would run all around here, pretending to fly –"

"– to the second star to the right and straight on till morning."

But it wasn't Mycroft who had interrupted her; the voice – a very familiar voice – had come from the man on the bench. He put down his book and stood up, standing nearly as tall as Mycroft. He wore a smart army uniform, a cap covering his cropped head. He was smiling at Molly, crinkles forming around large brown eyes identical to Molly's.

Molly gasped and her handbag dropped to the ground. She turned her head to look at Mycroft, to make sure that she was not having a hallucination. The man merely gave her a small but sincere smile. Turning back around, Molly finally knew that this was real, and her heart burst from happiness.

"_David!_" she screamed, and ran straight into her brother's open arms. His laugh, his wonderful laugh, filled the air as he lifted her off her feet and spun her around – just like she used to do with him when they were young. When she was on her feet again, her hands went to his still-smiling face as happy tears filled her eyes, reassuring herself that he was here, alive and safe and whole. All the happy girl could bring herself to say, over and over again, was, "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness…"

David, for it was indeed her little brother, kissed her forehead and said, "Happy Birthday, Mo."

Hearing her childhood nickname that he'd given her when he was learning language as a toddler, Molly hugged him tightly again, laughing with pure joy. "Oh, this is the best present you could have given me, D! Would your commanding officer be too embarrassed if I sent him a big batch of 'thank you' cookies?"

David laughed and shook his head. "While I'm sure he would blush as prettily as a tomato, it's not him who you should thank. I don't know what your new friend does in his 'minor' British government position, but he must have serious connections to arrange a week-long leave in time for your birthday at the last minute."

Molly's eyes widened as all of the pieces came together in her head. She turned her head in Mycroft's direction, fully intending to give him just as big of a hug as she had her brother, but all she saw was her handbag where she'd dropped it on the path.

Now that his job was done, there was no trace of Mycroft Holmes anywhere.

* * *

As a pathologist, Molly neither romanticized nor demonized death. She looked at it in a logical and natural way. Of course, being a living thing, she feared it to a certain extent; she did not want to die now, certainly, or in an unfair way. But she also knew that death was the only true certainty of life, and there was no point wishing that it would never happen. Also, being a pathologist and not really a religious person, Molly understood that everything people did after someone died – funerals, wakes, graves, cremations, autopsies, etc – were for the benefit of those left behind rather than the one who had died.

However, that did not mean in any way that Molly thought all of these things were unnecessary or superfluous. Quite the contrary, she knew how important each are in the wake of losing someone. So, though she knew she did not have to go to her parents' grave in order to really remember or feel close to them, it did help having a physical reminder and action in order to do so. And she made sure to visit the site a few times each year on specific days: their days of death, their birthdays, and her own birthday.

On this day, her thirty-first birthday, Molly was very glad that she had the company of her brother. Both of them walked arm-in-arm, each holding a bouquet of flowers, towards a large gravestone that memorialized their parents: Roland and Genevieve Hooper.

Though it was more natural that the parents pass before the children, each of their deaths had held a great element of tragedy. She had passed first, due to a placental abruption during childbirth, leaving behind her husband, five-year-old daughter, and newborn son. He had passed twenty years later, due to pancreatic cancer; he had fought hard with a brave and cheerful spirit, but unfortunately could not pull through.

With quiet solemnity, both Hooper children laid the flowers down before the grave, then stood looking at their parents' names in silence for a while, before David spoke: "Tell me a story, Mo?"

His voice was soft and rich, and he sounded like a little boy, as he always did when he asked Molly that question. Ever since he could talk, David would sometimes ask this question of Molly. Though it was put in quite general terms, Molly knew that he was asking for a story about their mother, who had been taken before he could remember her. Though their father made sure that his late wife would never be forgotten, both children could always see that speaking of her was understandably very painful for him. So David would ask his big sister for the stories and memories that she had, though they were few and precious, and she gladly shared them with him.

So, as Molly always did when her little brother asked this, she took his hand and answered in just as soft and rich of a voice.

* * *

When Molly came to the door of her spare room, now occupied by her brother, she found him in his pj's sitting cross-legged on the bed, hunched over a thick hardcover book that was well-worn from use. Smiling, she gently tapped on the doorframe, and he pulled his head up from the book as a swimmer would come up to breathe. He smiled back at her and the mugs of hot chocolate that she carried with her.

"Ah, thank you!" said David, accepting the warm mug from Molly as she sat down opposite him on the bed, mimicking his posture. "What a perfect way to end the day."

"A truly lovely day, thanks to you," said Molly sincerely. "Seriously, David, what you did…I would have been perfectly content with it just being us for dinner, but to see all of my old friends again, I…it was wonderful."

And it truly had been for Molly. She had fully expected to enjoy a nice, quiet, birthday dinner with her brother at her favorite restaurant. The last thing she had expected when arriving at their table was to find six of her oldest and dearest friends waiting there for them with a big "SURPRISE!" Safe to say, Molly had cried as she accepted all of the warm hugs and celebratory kisses from her friends. Most of them she had known since uni, some even before that, and all of them lived outside of London, so it wasn't easy to see any of them, much less have a get-together of all of them. So, with a big chocolate cake and a lot of pictures being taken, Molly enjoyed what was easily the best birthday she could remember having since her father had died.

"You deserve it, Mo," said David, squeezing her hand. "You've had a tough year, what with losing Sherlock like that, and since I was able to be home, I wanted to make it as wonderful as it could be for you. I only wish it could have been perfect."

"It was!" Molly instinctively responded. "I mean…well, nothing is ever perfect, but –"

"I get it," said David. "I wish both of the Holmes men could have been there, too."

Molly gave a hollow laugh as she looked into her own mug, but said nothing back, for he had hit the nail right on the head.

Eventually, David gently broke the silence. "It's still hard, isn't it?"

Molly heaved a deep sigh, knowing she had to choose her words carefully now. She had made a promise to Sherlock and Mycroft, and she would keep it. However, she would never tell her brother an outright lie, so she would share with him what she could. It was easier than she thought, since Sherlock was far away and never contacted her.

Looking back at her brother, she responded honestly. "Every time Lestrade comes for a case, or I see something interesting or intriguing, I have to remind myself that he's not coming to Bart's, that he can't. I don't know how long it will be until that stops; all I can do is tell myself that it's perfectly natural and that it gets better with time. And it does! I mean, comparing now to the holidays, it's a lot better." She gave a dry chuckle. "Honestly, if he were still here, I don't think I'd want him to come."

David raised his eyebrows, but only looked a little surprised. "Really?"

"Mm-hm. In the first place, social gatherings are never situations in which Sherlock is comfortable, and when he is uncomfortable nobody is safe. For example, I've told you the Christmas story."

"Ah," said David, drily, a small scowl on his face. "I never did get the chance to punch him in the face for that."

Molly smiled as she rolled her eyes. "And as I've told you before, Sherlock never meant to hurt me when he lashed out like that. He was just frustrated being in a social situation forced on him, not to mention all of the niceties of Christmas that he can't stand." She paused for a moment. "As insane as it sounds, I'm actually really grateful that happened."

David bit his lip, looking skeptically at his big sister. "You're going to have to explain that one to me, sis."

She smiled briefly, but then looked at him in all seriousness. "Being so humiliated like that…that was when my crush began to die. It wasn't until right before he…jumped…that I knew for sure that, though I loved him, I was never _in love _with him."

David smiled. "An important distinction. Mo, I won't lie to you: I'm really relieved about this. Not just because he's gone now, but because of the way he treated you. I don't care how brilliant he is or how good his intentions were: no one, especially you, deserved to be treated like just another tool in the lab that he could pick up and play with whenever he wanted."

In response, Molly gave a hollow laugh. "That's exactly how he made me feel all the time...I mean, especially at the Christmas party, I just _hated_ the way he made me feel about myself."

"You are already humble to a fault," David noted truthfully, "so add Sherlock Holmes into the mix –"

"–and my self-confidence takes a real beating, I get it," finished Molly. "But I am not going to waste any energy hating him or blaming him when there's nothing I can do to change things now. The most important thing is that I no longer pine after a man that could never be mine anyway."

David nodded with a small smile that quickly softened. "I _am _sorry that Mycroft could not be there tonight, though."

Molly blinked forcefully before nodding at her lap. "Yes, it…it _was _too bad that he couldn't come. But he had to be overseas this week, and at least Anthea was there."

Truth be told, Molly had not seen Mycroft since the day that he and David had surprised her in Kensington Gardens. Of course she wanted to thank him ever since she'd realized that he was responsible for her brother's visit, but she hadn't yet had the chance to do so. When Molly had tried to call him, Anthea had answered, informing her that Mycroft had left for the mainland for some sensitive negotiations in Eastern Europe. While she'd told Molly that she thought that Mycroft would only be away for a week, it still made Molly sad that he would not be here while her brother was home.

As if sensing her thoughts, David squeezed her hand. "I told you he picked me up from the airport, and we came up with the idea of how to surprise you. Well, I also took the opportunity of our one-on-one time to have a little chat with him."

Seeing a familiar glint in David's eye, Molly pulled her hand back and crossed her arms, looking at him suspiciously. "David, don't tell me that you gave him the third degree!"

Her brother held up his hands in surrender. "I only asked him some questions! After all, this man has become a big part of my big sister's life, and he's only become your friend since Sherlock died. So, considering how his little brother treated you, I wanted to make sure that would not happen again. And I am very pleased to say that he passed with flying colors."

Molly couldn't hide the sigh of relief that came out, but she tried to cover it up by being adorably stand-offish. "Well, that's nice to hear, but since when do I need my little brother's stamp of approval on my friendships?"

She smushed his face the way an infuriating maiden aunt might do to a child, and they both laughed. He then pulled her in for a tight hug. "Goodnight, Mo," he murmured.

Molly squeezed him and kissed his forehead before she pulled away. "Goodnight, D," she said softly.

After one last smile exchanged, Molly got off the bed and left the room, only to poke her head back through the doorway with twinkling eyes. "You sure you don't want me to get a night-light for you?" she asked sweetly, remembering that he had used one for the first eight years of his life.

"Oh, hush and go to bed!" David said, throwing a pillow at her head. She withdrew it and shut the door just in time, laughing all the way to her room. Chuckling himself, David retrieved the pillow and then settled down in the bed. His mind drifted to his arrival at Heathrow and his meeting of and talking with Mycroft Holmes…

_ Though the man held no sign or indication that he was waiting for him, David could tell that this was Mycroft Holmes from the way he was staring at him with a small but genuine smile – also the way he stood with one ankle crossed behind the other leaning on his umbrella, as Molly had described he liked to do when he greeted somebody._

_ "Mr. Holmes?" asked David when he came face to face with the man._

_ "Mycroft, please," he said, uncrossing his ankles and standing straight, giving a small salute. "Lieutenant Hooper."_

_ "David, please," he replied with a smile, saluting back and then accepting the older man's hand to shake. "I'm very pleased to meet you."_

_ "The feeling is mutual," Mycroft replied as they began to walk away from the arrival gate. "Molly has nothing but wonderful things to say about you."_

_ "The same goes for you," said David. If he hadn't already been watching Mycroft, he would have missed the brief flash of surprised delight and relief pass over his face. He took that as a very good sign, but that would not deter him from the questions he needed to ask. Slinging his overnight bag over his shoulder, he asked in a deceptively casual tone: "So, what are your intentions with my sister?"_

_ If Mycroft was surprised or taken aback by this not-so-subtle question, he hid it well. But that didn't turn out to be the case. "I've been expecting that question," said Mycroft. "I know how protective we brothers can be, younger or older."_

_ "It's not just that," said David, in all seriousness. He halted in his steps, causing Mycroft to stop as well, the two men now facing each other. "I truly am sorry for your loss and the way it happened, but I can't deny that I regret never having the chance to give your little brother a real piece of my mind about the way he treated – no, _used – _my sister. She never liked to elaborate or give me the gory details, but I know her and could read between the lines clearly enough. So, no matter what she says about you to me, and how well you're treating her now, I need to hear it from you that you're not going to take after your little brother."_

_ Mycroft held David's gaze steadily and firmly, taking a deep breath before answering. "Would you mind waiting for my answer until we are in my car? I dislike speaking about personal matters in public settings."_

_ Sensing that he was not being snobby but truthful, David nodded and followed Mycroft out of Heathrow. Once they were in the backseat of the elegant black car, Mycroft turned to David and answered as honestly and sincerely as he could, especially since he could not tell David everything. Though he couldn't give the complete truth, he still wanted it to be the truth._

_ "David…I will not deny that, while Molly was acquainted with my brother, I hardly gave her a second thought. I only saw her as a way of keeping Sherlock from getting bored to death and return to using by providing him with body parts and lab access. I am ashamed of that now. But after my brother…jumped…and I saw her at his funeral…something told me that this was a person who deserved to be acknowledged, respected, and shown kindness. That is not something that I have felt in…a very long time…and though it still feels foreign to me, I am not embarrassed or ashamed of it, as I'm sure my brother would be. She is my true friend, and she counts me as the same. That is something that I value very highly, and the last thing I would want is to break that…or her."_

_ For a solid minute and a half, David and Mycroft held each other's gazes, one trying to show his sincerity and the other processing what had just been given. Thankfully, David shared with Molly a very empathetic nature, and he trusted his gut when it told him that this man was not lying._

_ With a small but satisfied smile, David stuck out his hand and Mycroft firmly shook it, a silent understanding and pact passing between them. "So," he said, when that was done, in a much more cheerful tone. "I have an idea of how best we can surprise her."_

_ Mycroft smiled right back. "I am all ears..."_

David fell asleep with a new ease in his heart. For so long, he had worried about his big sister and the lonely like he knew she was leading, especially when Sherlock had been a part of it. But now, knowing that she had a true friend and support that she could count on at her side, he finally felt that he could leave her without feeling too guilty or apprehensive.

* * *

Whenever David had to leave England at the end of each leave, Molly would always hug him as tightly as she could at the departure gate. She would save her tears for when she was alone, not wanting her brother to carry that image with him, but their hugs always communicated how much they loved each other and would miss each other far better than words ever could.

When they finally pulled apart, Molly touched her forehead to his as she whispered. "Take care of yourself."

"I always do."

"And be safe, please."

Knowing that it was more of a prayer than a request he could fulfill, he kissed her forehead and said, "I'll call when I arrive at the base."

"Okay, D," she said. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Mo," he said. Finally, they let each other go and he walked through the gate with one last smile and wave. Molly returned it with her heart in her throat.

Once he was out of sight, she hurried out of Heathrow, wanting privacy so she could weep her little weep, as she always did when her brother had to leave. So instead of heading for the tube, she hailed a cab and gave, not her home address, but that of the Diogenes Club. After all, it truly had become her sanctuary.

But when she arrived and entered the private room, she saw that the room was not empty. Mycroft was sitting in his usual comfortable chair, an open book on his lap. When he heard the door close behind her, Mycroft's eyes found her and he immediately stood up, setting the book on the small table beside the chair.

For a moment, they just stood on opposite sides of the room, looking at each other. When Molly finally found the words that could push past the lump in her throat, they were much more awkward than she wanted. "So, um, when did you get back?"

"Two hours ago," said Mycroft promptly, slowly beginning to close the distance between them. "I wanted to relax a bit here before briefing my bosses at eight."

"Did it go well?" she asked, clearing her throat a bit so her voice could steady.

Mycroft shrugged, still slowly approaching her. "As well as can be expected. World War Three isn't happening this month, at least."

Molly smiled at his joke. "Then you've done your job."

They shared a laugh, and looking at him, Molly felt her urge to weep become replaced by a deep, warm feeling of gratitude as she remembered just why her brother was able to be home for her birthday, after all. "Mycroft…" she said softly, richly, holding her hands tightly to keep herself from jumping him with a big bear hug. "How can I…what you did…I could never…"

Blushing, she looked at her hands. Then, she felt her face being lifted up by a gentle finger under her chin. Her full brown eyes met his kind blue ones.

"Molly…not only have you saved my brother's life twice now, you have been the first friend I've had in over thirty years…It is safe to say that we are far from even."

Touched beyond words, Molly acted on a pure instinct: she took the hand that had lifted up her face, and kissed it with all of the gratitude he would not let her express.

Once she had dropped the hand, to prevent things from becoming awkward, Molly wiped her eyes and said, "Did you start a new book?"

"Yes, an old favorite," Mycroft replied promptly, going back to his chair. "_The Pickwick Papers, _Dickens' first classic. Would you like to listen?"

"Is it funny? I'm in no mood for a somber piece."

"As only Dickens can be."

So Molly happily settled on the sofa and let Mycroft transport her to the rich world of Mr. Pickwick and his eccentric followers, more grateful than ever that she had such a good friend.


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**

One afternoon in mid-autumn, Mycroft arrived at the Diogenes Club at his usual time, right on schedule. He was not in the best of moods and for good reason, too (at least in his mind). He was very much looking forward to his designated one-hundred and seventy-five minutes of quiet and solitude. However, when he entered his private room, he found neither quiet nor solitude – in the best possible way.

Molly was sitting at the cabinet piano, softly playing a pretty tune, a perfect blend of a meditation and a lullaby. He smiled. As quietly as a mouse, Mycroft hung up his coat and brolly, and sneaked over to his easy chair. He settled in comfortably and closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the lovely music. He didn't know why he had come to prefer Molly's simple but lovely tunes to the masterpieces of Chopin and Mendelssohn, but just like Molly, their essence and aura made him feel…quite pleasant indeed.

He didn't open his eyes until after the music had stopped, and he felt her presence on the sofa beside him. Mycroft opened his eyes, and there she was, resting her chin on her folded arms, which were resting on the armrest, looking at him. "Hello," she said, with her customary sweet smile.

And he smiled back. "I know that wasn't for me, but thank you. I needed that."

She shrugged. "It's just a tune I remember my mother used to hum to me, and that I then would hum to David. It's one of the most concrete memories I have of her." Her eyes misted over for a moment before she blinked and continued with her smile back. "But it's thanks to you that my playing improved and I could finally make my memory concrete."

Mycroft was about as used to genuine compliments as a human being was to having wings: completely unfamiliar but completely heartwarming. Molly certainly liked giving them to him, but this one touched something so deep and tender in his heart that he had to look away for a minutes.

When she heard him clear his throat, Molly's smile fell and she became concerned. "I'm sorry, I…I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"No," he said hastily, clearing his throat again. He turned back to her, his expression determinedly pleasant, but Molly thought his eyes were a bit bright. "Not at all, Molly, you did not embarrass me at all. But you _could _help me with…a favor."

Feeling that he needed to change the subject (though Molly would certainly store what had happened in her mind), Molly nodded and eagerly said, "Of course! What is it?"

It might have been her imagination, but Molly thought that she saw him wince a bit. "Well, I've just found out that I've been invited to a…social event…on Halloween."

"Oh," said Molly, not expecting that. "Well…that was nice of…oh, who invited you?"

"Dr. Christopher Ebersole," Mycroft replied. "He is a former member of the Diogenes Club, and is the one who introduced it to me. However, I have known him all my life; he and my mother were fellows at Oxford together, where he is head of the department."

Molly smiled. The subject of Mycroft's family beyond Sherlock had never been a subject that he would willingly talk about, and Molly had never pushed. So, whenever hearing something like this, she would listen and gather it up to her mind eagerly. "Is your mother a professor, too?"

Mycroft shook his head. "She wrote a book that was very well-received in her profession, but gave it all up after she and my father married."

Unconsciously, her smile fell a little. "Oh."

As always, Mycroft could read her expression perfectly, and touched her hand. "Not like that, Molly. My father would never have demanded such an arcane thing. They wanted to start a family, and it was completely her decision." Blinking, he pulled his hand away and changed the subject. "As I was saying, Dr. Ebersole invited me, though I do not know why. He knows that I detest social functions of any kind. But he has always been a loyal and honorable friend, and Mummy would have my head if I were to refuse."

"Well, what kind of 'social function' is it?" Molly asked, smiling at the words and tone Mycroft was using.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Well, as lovely a man as he is, Dr. Ebersole can be a tad bit…_eccentric._ He has recently taken to holding dinner parties in the fashion of the post-Edwardian era."

Molly's eyes lit up. "Oooh, like _Downton Abbey_?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Though he huffed in annoyance, his eyes twinkled with amusement at how red Molly's face had gone. "Yes. Apparently, he started this when his wife fell in love with the show the same way that you have."

After clearing her throat – and praying for the flaming in her cheeks to cool – Molly said, "Well, that doesn't sound bad at all! I know it's not the Victorian era, but the 1910s are still an area that spark your interest."

"It's not that," said Mycroft, who now scratched the back of his neck in an uncharacteristic sign of nervousness. He also avoided her gaze, another odd sign. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. "It is a requirement, apparently, that guests must come in pairs to these dinners."

His gaze met hers again, and Molly felt her cheeks flame up again. "Oh, um…are you asking me to go with you?"

"Who else would I ask, Molly?" replied Mycroft, in a voice that was just a touch softer than usual.

"Well…what about Anthea, Mycroft? She would probably be much more appropriate for…something like this." Now it was Molly who lowered her gaze.

"This is not a work-related function, so I will need Anthea at the office in case anything comes up," replied Mycroft. He then turned up her face with a finger under her chin. "And why would you think something like that?"

A bit uncomfortable at being put on the spot with an uncomfortable question, Molly pulled away from him and shrugged. "Well, because she's beautiful and I'm not."

Her tone was so matter of fact that when Mycroft sat back in his chair, he looked angry more than anything else. "Molly," he said, a bit sharply. "There is a fine line between humility and delusion. You are too clever to cross that line; please don't do it again."

His gaze and tone softened before he immediately continued leaving Molly no chance to protest.

"And even if Anthea were available, I would still choose you. I know that Dr. Ebersole would prefer I bring my true friend rather than my PA, and so would I."

Molly had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could answer. "Well, then, I would be honored. But I don't even know where to start with finding something to wear –"

"Don't worry, I will have Anthea help you find everything you need," Mycroft reassured her, smiling with satisfaction that she had accepted his invitation. The event would not be nearly as dull anymore.

* * *

On the eve of Hallow's Eve, Mycroft knocked on the door to Molly's flat. This was the first time that he himself had been there, and he thought that the plain white door with the wreath of flowers hanging on the front suited her. Within ten seconds the door opened – and Mycroft stopped breathing.

Molly stood before him as though she had just stepped out of a beautiful portrait. She wore a long, sleek, and form-fitting gown of sky blue silk embroidered with silver flowers. Though she was already slender, Mycroft could tell that she wore a corset, which had the best possible effect on her figure. Her long hair was done up in a simple but very elegant French twist. Her gloves were white and went over her elbow, her blue slippers only had a small heel, and her jewelry was a simple pearl necklace and pearl teardrop earrings. She wore a little make-up, but certainly no more than necessary, and it enhanced her best features (eyes and cheeks).

The first thought that came into Mycroft's mind when he was able to think again was this: _How could she ever believe that she wasn't beautiful?_

When she saw him, she gasped as her face lit up with a smile. "Oh, Mycroft, you look so handsome!"

Having completely forgotten what he was wearing once he saw her, Mycroft looked down at himself and saw an impeccable white-tie-and-tails ensemble. "Yes, well," he said, his voice quite deep and hoarse, so he cleared his throat. "When in Rome…"

"Anthea left just a few minutes ago," said Molly. "She's been _such _a big help, she did everything really. How can I ever thank her? She said this would be perfect, and I hope so. I'm just…_so _not used to getting so dressed up! I feel so strange."

"You shouldn't," said Mycroft. "You look…you are perfect."

He hadn't meant to give so high a compliment, but, as it tends to do, the pure truth came from the heart, out of the mouth, and without any permission from the mind. And when he saw her reaction – her cheeks flushing pink as she shyly smiled – Mycroft knew that he would never regret it.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," said Molly, lifting her coat from the coat rack.

"Here, let me help you," Mycroft said automatically, taking the coat from Molly. She turned and he carefully slipped the long, black garment over her lovely dress. His nose caught the smell of her shampoo (honey and oats), her soap (lilac and roses), and her natural scent. Never before in his life had a smell caused him to want to just…_let go._

Thankfully, before these thoughts (were they even thoughts, for they certainly weren't logical) could develop any further, Molly had turned around once the coat had settled on her shoulders. "Let's go, then!" she said brightly.

Pulling himself together, Mycroft smiled back and offered her his arm. In silence, they left her building and got into the car he had waiting for them. Once they were on their way, Molly turned towards him. She was smiling, but once she took a look at him, it dimmed. "What about you?"

Mycroft blinked. "What about me?"

"Are _you_ ready? I know that you are not exactly enthusiastic about attending this dinner, party, whatever you call it."

"Of course, I'm perfectly fine," Mycroft replied automatically and a little too quickly.

Molly's right eyebrow lifted. "Really? Because I've never seen your shoulders set so stiffly before."

Mycroft looked down at his lap, having been caught out. "I do not know why I keep forgetting how observant you are."

"Thank you, and don't worry about it," said Molly. "If it keeps you on your toes a bit, then all the better. The last thing I want to do is make a Holmes bored."

Mycroft chuckled a bit before saying quite seriously: "Molly, while I cannot speak for my brother, I assure you that there is no chance of that happening with me."

Molly's eyes twinkled and her cheeks flushed again as she looked at her own lap, her mouth fighting a big smile. Mycroft smiled to himself, his heart lifting in satisfaction at her reaction even while his mind wondered why that should make him so happy.

In the next minute, the car had pulled up in front of an elegant Victorian townhouse. Each window glowed with welcoming, golden light. To Mycroft's surprise, Molly's reaction was to let out a great sigh of relief. "What is it?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just glad that this isn't taking place at Highclere Castle," replied Molly frankly. "As thrilling as it would be, I wouldn't trust myself not to faint in this corset."

Mycroft laughed practically until the moment he knocked on the front door.

* * *

Several hours later, the two of them were once again in the back seat of the black car, as it made its way to Molly's flat. Both were silent, for their heads were buzzing, as was the air around them.

When the car came to a stop, Molly jumped a bit because she'd been so lost in her own head. She giggled once before turning to look at Mycroft, who had exited the car and was holding open her door. When they had stepped up to her front door, Molly said with complete sincerity: "Mycroft, I know you didn't want to go in the first place, but I had a truly lovely time."

Mycroft smiled. "I may have been quite reluctant, but the evening was quite pleasant, thanks to you."

"Me? _You _were the one who kept me amused by whispering all of your observations and deductions to me! Made the evening _much _more exciting. Also, the Ebersoles are such lovely people. I'm glad that I could meet them."

"So am I. They asked me if I would bring you to another of these gatherings, if I ever wanted to come again. Quite frankly, it wouldn't be worth going again without you."

Molly smiled. "I would like that very much." Mycroft smiled back.

A car passing by broke the spell between them. Both jumped a bit and both laughed self-consciously. Determined to end this evening on as good a note as the evening had been, Molly stepped closer to Mycroft. "Well, good night, Mycroft." She then went on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek.

She had meant for it to be a friendly peck, the kind that she gave her brother and Mrs. Hudson. But once she was so close to him, his scent hit her like a wave: his aftershave, his soap, his natural masculine scent. Molly got the terrifying urge to swoon, but managed to hold it in by having the innocent kiss linger for a second longer – which made it not so innocent anymore.

In her haze, she did not notice Mycroft close his eyes and hold his breath in reaction.

Molly settled back on her heels with flaming cheeks, looking at his tie as he said in a rather husky voice: "Good night, Molly."

In the next moment, both practically made a beeline from each other, one into her building and one into his car. Once inside her flat, Molly carefully tried to get her gown and corset off as quickly as possible. Mycroft barely waited until he was home to rip off his tie and tails. Both fell into bed with tired bodies, flaming cheeks, and racing minds.

And both were too terrified to explore too deeply the change that was forming between them.

* * *

**A/N: **_Sorry for not going into more detail about their little Downton Abbey evening, but I had two reasons: one, I've already written a story about the two of them going to some formal event together and did not want to repeat myself; and two, I wanted to keep this chapter focused on the changing and developing feelings and romantic tension between them. So adorable!_


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

_How on earth have I let it come to this?_

The reason that this was the thought that dominated Mycroft's mind was quite simple and quite unbelievable: He and Molly were currently on their way to his parents' home in Surrey for a two night stay in honor of Christmas. And it had been all Mycroft's idea.

Last month, shortly after the first anniversary of Sherlock's "death," Molly had learned from her brother that, like last year, he would not be able to come home for Christmas. Mycroft, who hated to see Molly so disappointed and sad, had then invited her to spend Christmas with his family since she couldn't spend it with her own.

Mycroft hadn't know who had been more shocked by his invitation. His parents were easily the most delighted.

"Oh, Myc, this is so exciting!" his mother had exclaimed when he called her about Christmas. "You've never brought a girl home before!"

"Mummy!" Mycroft had exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "She is my friend and nothing more!"

"Whatever your relationship may be, this is the first time that either of my boys have brought home anybody for any reason that was not bad! So please let us be excited about this!"

As the black car turned onto the familiar home street, the man behind the British government was clutching his hands together to conceal their shaking from his companion, and that dominant thought playing over and over in his mind. A year ago, there would never have been any hint of a possibility that Mycroft would even be capable of doing anything like this, not even for Molly. Their friendship had only begun around last Christmas, after all. And while now, he could safely say that they were very close and dear friends, Mycroft was extremely wary of doing anything that may blur or cross the line of friendship into something…other than friendship.

_And that is _not _what I am doing now, _he would think to himself firmly over and over again. _ It is perfectly natural to invite a friend to spend the holidays with your family when she cannot do so with her own. I would be a terrible friend to let her spend Christmas alone! If anything, this just proves our friendship is just that and nothing more! Absolutely nothing to worry about._

When the car pulled up outside of the Holmes home, Mycroft turned to look at Molly. His mind immediately cleared of dangerous thoughts when she saw how pale her cheeks were and how tightly her hands were gripping the festive biscuit tin she had in her lap.

"Molly, you have absolutely no reason to be nervous," said Mycroft, as soothingly as he could.

"I'm not nervous!" Molly immediately squeaked, looking at him with brown eyes even bigger than a doe's.

Mycroft smirked. "Nostrils flaring, Molly."

She growled about as ferociously as a kitten, and Mycroft's smirk turned into a smile. Her nostrils _always _flared when she ever attempted to fib (which was not very often). "Okay, I'm nervous! I'm sorry! I just…well, I…I just…I just hope that they will like me."

"What?" Mycroft said, taken aback. "Why on earth would you think that they would not…Ah!" His eyes filled with understanding and a little mischief. "No wonder you are nervous! You cannot imagine what kind of creatures created such specimens as my brother and I! Don't deny it," he said, holding up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "Well, that is understandable, but please believe me when I repeat myself: You have absolutely _no _reason to be nervous. Alright?"

Looking into his eyes and finding no lie, Molly eventually gulped and nodded.

Mycroft then got out of the car and walked around to open her door. As they made their way up the front path, the front door with a very festive wreath hanging on it flew open. Out stepped a short, rounded but striking woman in her late sixties or early seventies. She wore a festive but tasteful outfit for the holiday, and she had a very big grin on her face.

"Oh, Myc, you're here! You're both here! Albert, they're here!"

"Yes, Mummy, our presence has already established that we are here," Mycroft said in exasperation, but the corners of his lips were turned up.

"Oh, hush up, you!" said Mrs. Holmes as she pulled her son in for a hug. Mycroft bent his tall frame to accommodate and return the gesture, and the sight made Molly smile.

A man who could only be her husband came out of the house. He was a man of good height and distinguished looks, with wavy silver hair Molly had a good idea was once as curly as his youngest son's. His smile was warm as he approached them. "Happy Christmas to you both!"

"You too, Dad," said Mycroft as his mother let him go and turned to Molly.

"Welcome to our home, Dr. Hooper," said Mrs. Holmes, who gave Molly just as motherly a hug as she'd given her son. "It is so wonderful to finally meet you."

Molly was surprised by, but welcomed, the hug, for it felt lovely. "Likewise, Mrs. Holmes," she said when they pulled away.

"Please, call me Rowena," she said. "And is it alright if we call you Molly?"

"Of course! No need to be so formal on Christmas!"

"Well said," said her husband, who took her and kissed her cheek. "Welcome, my dear. Please call me Albert…and what, may I ask, is in that lovely tin?"

"Just some Christmas cookies. It's my mother's recipe."

Albert's eyes lit up, and Rowena immediately stepped in and gently pushed him away. "Ah, ah, ah! Not until after supper, you! So sorry, Molly dear. You can see where Myc gets his sweet-tooth from!"

"Mummy…" Mycroft groaned, rubbing his temple.

"Let's all go inside!" said Rowena, ignoring her son. "It's nippy out here in the winter wind!"

Albert and Rowena let the way into the house, with Molly and Mycroft right behind them.

"Myc?" Molly whispered to Mycroft with a barely concealed grin.

"Don't you dare," he replied before they went inside.

* * *

"So not too much fuss this year, then?" asked Molly, looking at her brother's face on the screen of her laptop.

"No, and most of us prefer it that way," replied David, smiling. "We just had a quiet night of good food and carol singing, plus a screening of 'It's a Wonderful Life.'"

Molly smiled. "Excellent choice. We're watching that after dinner tonight. Apparently, it's Mycroft's favorite."

"Just like you," said David, smiling. "Excellent! And you've been having a good Christmas Eve so far?"

"Oh, it's been lovely! They waited to decorate their Christmas tree until we had come, and I got to hear some lovely family stories!" Molly paused.

"What's that face for, Mo?" her ever-observant brother asked.

"Nothing…I mean, it's probably nothing…it's just, a few times, it seemed like one of the two would start to say something, tell a new story, but then they would stop or would change the subject."

David shrugged. "Well, perhaps some things are too precious to share with new people, no matter how well you're getting along."

Molly nodded. "That's what I thought, so I won't think anymore about it."

David nodded in agreement, then craned his neck and snorted. "Are those pirate flags in the wallpaper pattern?"

She laughed, looking again at the wall behind the bed, on which she was sitting with her legs crossed. "Yes, it is! I've been put in Sherlock's old room, while Mycroft is in his own. Apparently, the younger Holmes wanted to be a pirate when he was a child. And I got to see plenty of pictures of him during that phase today!"

The brother and sister exchanged a hearty laugh.

"Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to turn in," said David, after yawning.

"Of course, I know how early you all get up every day," said Molly, before her expression and voice became serious and rich. "Be careful, okay, D?"

"I will, Mo, I promise. Happy Christmas, and please send my best wishes to the Holmes's, and my gratitude for not letting you spend the holidays alone."

She smiled. "I will. Love you, D."

"Love _you, _Mo. Talk to you soon."

Both logged off, and Molly shut her laptop with a sigh. Of course she wished her brother could be home, but at least they lived in an age where communication was so instant, making it easier to bear.

Hungering for a distraction, Molly blinked and once again looked around Sherlock's childhood room. It didn't fail to put a smile on her face. From the pirate wallpaper, to the old chemistry equipment and kits, to the bookshelf crammed with everything from detective stories to science textbooks…everything about the room screamed the name of the consulting detective. Not for the first time, Molly said a little prayer in her heart for his well-being, and hoped that he would come home soon. When he had last given her an update, Mycroft had assured her that, unless Sherlock made another colossal mistake, there was a very good chance that Sherlock would be home for the next Christmas to come.

A gentle knock on the bedroom door brought Molly out of her reverie. Hastily wiping away a tear that had fallen from her eye, she said, "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Albert Hooper, who wore an inquisitive and gentle expression on his face. "Rowena wanted me to tell you that dinner is just about ready, if you wanted to come down now."

Molly nodded. "All right. I'll come down in a minute."

He took a few steps into the room. "Are you alright, my dear?"

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Molly was reminded of her father. He had been a very empathetic man, who always seemed to know just how Molly was feeling, even when she put on a cheerful front. Molly smiled at him and nodded. "Yes. I've just talked to my brother, and…of course I wish he could be home…both him and Sherlock."

Albert nodded gravely, and held out his hands to Molly to help her off of the bed. Molly accepted them, putting her tiny hands in his big, warm and calloused ones.

"I know how hard it is, my dear. But I think the blessings far outweigh our shadows. Your brother is, right now, safe, and you're able to talk to him. And because of you, our Sherlock is alive and coming closer and closer to home every day."

Overwhelmed with emotion, Molly closed her eyes and lowered her head. When Mycroft had first asked her to come home with him for Christmas, Molly had initially refused. It was one thing to pretend to Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade that Sherlock was not alive, but how could she (or especially _he_?) do that to his parents? But then Mycroft had told her that they knew he was alive, and only then did she accept. Of course it relieved her beyond measure, as well as clarify in her mind why they had not come to the funeral over a year ago. More than anything, Molly was happy that Mycroft refused to lie to his parents in such a terrible way. She knew that, if Mycroft didn't have a choice, he would; but thank God he had a choice, and refused to make the wrong one.

Albert gently lifted Molly's chin, smiling warmly at her. "Chin up, my dear," he said, and kissed her forehead. "See you in a minute." Then he left the room.

Her heart feeling much less heavy, Molly brushed out her hair from her braid and changed into favorite red-and-white Christmas jumper. She then went to the bathroom to wash her face and freshen up a bit, determined to not let sadness touch her again this evening. Then, as she was leaving the loo, Molly's eyes fell on the closed door of Mycroft's room. Of course she was extremely curious to see what the room was like – even more curious than she had been about Sherlock's room – but he hadn't showed it to her, and Molly certainly wouldn't violate his privacy. But she sincerely hoped that he would offer to show her before they left.

Feeling more than ready for a good meal and lovely company on Christmas Eve, Molly practically skipped down the stairs. But just before she could enter the dining room, Molly bumped into the tall figure of Mycroft. Both started to apologize in embarrassment at the same time.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you –"

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright –"

A delighted exclamation (more of a squeal, really) from Rowena shut both of their mouths and caused them to look at her in complete confusion. Her eyes sparkling with a smirk, she pointed above their heads. "You're caught! Now you can't come to the table until you follow tradition!"

Slowly, Mycroft and Molly looked up to the top of the archway that separated the dining room from the hall. Hanging above their heads was a clump of – what else? – _mistletoe_.

Her heart in her stomach, Molly looked at Mycroft, who had closed his eyes as if he had just gotten a headache. Feeling even more mortified now, Molly looked at her feet, desperately trying to find the words that would make a plausible excuse to get them out of this situation. But before a single word could be found, Mycroft had cupped her cheek and lifted her face.

The kiss he gave her was on her right cheek, very close to her mouth, so to his parents at the table it could appear as if he were giving her a proper kiss. But at the same time, this was no chaste peck. His lips were hot and soft, and he seemed to be making a plea, but for what? Was it to her or to himself? All Molly knew was that she wanted, in that moment more than anything, to melt against him and turn her head just enough so that –

And then it was over, and Mycroft was sitting down at the table with cheeks that could only be described as rosy. "Satisfied, Mummy?" he said, his voice an out-of-breath grumble.

"Quite!" she said, and happily started tucking in to her shepherd's pie.

Molly remained silent, with flaming cheeks and a pounding heart. She barely managed to not collapse into her chair beside Albert, and for a minute she could only stare at her plate. But then she felt Albert's hand give her knee a brief squeeze, and Molly was able to move again.

But both Molly and Mycroft's cheeks did not fully cool that Christmas Eve, and it was now much harder to look each other in the eye.

* * *

Christmas morning came with a beautiful new layer of white snow, which seemed to refresh the psyches of both Molly and Mycroft after the previous evening. They came downstairs with Albert and Rowena, all in their pajamas and robes and ready to have a hearty breakfast and open gifts. Truth be told, Molly hadn't had such a nice Christmas morning since her childhood, when her father had been alive and her brother had been home.

After breakfast, the four of them gathered in the den around the Christmas tree, with the elderly couple on the sofa and the other two in comfortable chairs. Albert and Rowena insisted that the two young people open their gifts first, and Molly insisted the very first would be Mycroft. He accepted since he had no other choice.

The gifts from his parents were the usual standard fare: new ties and shirts, as well as a very nice new brolly handle that his father had carved. What he really wanted to open was Molly's gift, and, despite its small size, it did not disappoint.

"You told me once that your favorite animal was a tortoise," said Molly, explaining the gift Mycroft had just opened. "And I'm sure that you already have a place where you put your cufflinks. But when I saw it, I thought of you, so…"

It really was a work of art, the small porcelain jewelry box carved and painted like a tortoise, but it was the fact that Molly had remembered an off-hand comment he'd made over six months ago that truly touched Mycroft's heart. He looked up from his gift and met her eyes and said, "It's beautiful."

Of course, what he really meant was, _You're beautiful. _Albert and Rowena could see it, plain as day; as delighted as they were, they wisely contained it to a loving look between them. And, on a subconscious level, both Molly and Mycroft knew it as well, but too terrified to consider what that really would mean.

Next was Molly's turn to open gifts. From Rowena, she received several booklets of clever logic puzzles. "They're terrific to flex out the brain muscles and distract you should you need a distraction."

From Albert, Molly received one of his own creations: a beautifully carved box about the size of a large hardcover book. "For anything precious you'd like to keep inside."

But, of course, Molly was most eager to see what Mycroft's gift was. And the fact that it was flat and paper-sized got Molly very curious indeed. It turned out that the gift was paper. Sheet music, in fact. And the title was unfamiliar to her: "I Have Dreamed" from the musical _The King and I._

Of course Molly looked up at him in surprised confusion. He merely smiled, almost shyly, and said, "Look at the melody. Read it, and hear it."

Trusting him, Molly looked at the music and, with her musician's eye, interpreted the notes above the simple words. She hadn't gotten through four bars before she dropped the sheet music with a gasp. Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth gave way to an astonished smile as she looked at Mycroft. Now his smile was as happy as hers.

"Merry Christmas, Molly."

* * *

That night, that Christmas night, Molly listened to the song over and over again on her phone. The first recording she had found of it was a 1991 recording by Lea Salonga and Peabo Bryson; they sang it beautifully. Of course, Molly had always known this was a beautiful song. But she had only ever heard it hummed by her mother…now she knew what she had been humming. No wonder her father always smiled when he heard this! What a beautiful love song it was!

But as Molly listened to the lovely song over and over again, the less she thought about her parents and the more she thought about the man she loved. The man she had fallen in love with. The man who had linked the most precious memory of her mother to this concrete fact that it existed.

_I'm in love with the British government, _Molly would think numbly. And another tear would fall silently down her cheek.

* * *

What she didn't know was that, just outside of the bedroom door, Mycroft stood like a lost, nervous little boy. His heart, too, had come to a mutual realization, and he wanted more than anything to go in there and just…_be_ with her!

But then Mycroft remembered that she was in Sherlock's room, and he walked away in heartbreaking defeat.

* * *

**A/N: **_Fun fact: the part about Molly's gift of a little tortoise box comes from the canon. In "The Greek Interpreter," Mycroft's first appearance in the stories, he has a tortoise-shell snuffbox. I always liked that odd choice of accessory, so I modernized it! Well, now the two of them know how they feel; now they need to believe that the feeling is mutual. And PLEASE look up that song and listen to it - so gorgeous and perfect for them!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

On the morning of Boxing Day, when Molly came downstairs in the Holmes house for breakfast, she discovered that Mycroft had left without her.

"He said an emergency came up at work," said Rowena, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she spread orange marmalade over some toast. "There's always something going on with work for him and Sherlock! Honestly, those boys need to learn that work will never love you back."

After the revelation that Molly'd had the night before, such words that had only been said absently felt like a hand taking Molly's raw heart and giving it a sharp twist. She had been terrified about the prospect of facing Mycroft again with her new knowledge, but she knew that she needed to do it. She had not expected him to disappear.

"Oh," was all she could say in reply before sitting down beside Albert at the kitchen table. Seeing her downcast expression, though she tried to hide it, Albert patted her hand.

"Don't worry, my dear. It will be alright."

Looking at the kind man – whom she couldn't believe had fathered the two sons he did and still retain this patient and gentle nature – Molly knew instinctively that he wasn't just speaking of her loss of a ride back to London. And just like that, Molly understood how Albert managed to raise two exasperating geniuses – not to mention have a long and happy marriage with a "completely mad" wife (his words, not hers) – and still be such a sweet, loving and patient man.

She squeezed his hand in gratitude, and softly said, "I hope so."

* * *

After breakfast had been consumed and Molly had packed up her things, Albert and Rowena drove her to the train station, where she managed to get a ticket back to London. They parted from her with hugs, words of great affection, and a request that she kept in touch with them – which she gave them. Despite what was happening with Mycroft, Molly's heart was full with the fact that, not only did two more people share her secret, they were people she was growing to love and who loved her in return.

That afternoon, Molly went to the Diogenes Club around the time that Mycroft always came. But when she came to their private room, she found it empty. The next day, Molly did the same thing, and had the same result. Same with the next day, and the day after that. When Molly tried to call him, Anthea would always answer, saying that Mycroft was working and had a lot on his plate.

Each day, Molly's frustration and worries grew, but what could Molly do? She knew how important Mycroft's position was, being the frickin' British Government, so who was she to try and interfere in that without a very good reason? The only reason that Molly had…she just wanted to see him again! What she would do when she saw him again – carry on as if nothing had changed, confess her heart to him, or something in between – Molly had absolutely no idea. Would she know what to do when she was face-to-face with him again? She had no idea about that, either. But the thought of Mycroft not being in her life anymore was much more terrifying than any kind of life with him in it that wasn't all her heart desired.

"What a mess…" Molly muttered to herself.

"What's that, Molly?"

Glad to be taken out of her melancholy mindset, Molly returned to reality and looked at her friend, Helen, a nurse in the Burns Unit and an acquaintance from Uni. They were standing in the St. Bart's canteen lunch line, choosing between the pork and the pasta (both wisely chose the pasta), and it was New Year's Eve.

"Oh, nothing, Helen, don't mind me," said Molly hastily with a fake smile, cursing herself that she was letting her mind slip in public as well as in private now.

The two moved along the line in silence until they had paid the cashier and were making their way to a vacant table. Helen broke the silence. "Say, Molly, do you have any plans tonight?"

Molly felt a leaden weight fall into her stomach. She hated questions like this – those questions that the person who asks already has a good idea of what the answer was, but who asks anyway to be polite and cover pity. And she could remember plenty of times when such questions were asked of her, some out of genuine good-will, and others out of pure scorn. But she had always liked Helen, and she knew that the nurse meant well, so she answered honestly.

"Um…I thought that I had plans when Christmas came, but recently…no, I don't think I do have any plans right now."

And it was the truth. Molly had hoped that she could herald in the new year with Mycroft at the Diogenes Club, but considering his distance and silence after Christmas, that now seemed out of the question.

"Well, in that case," said Helen, "a group of us are having a party at the Three Griffins Pub tonight. It won't be a big gathering, since it's not a big pub, and there will be good food, good drinks, and good people. You'd be more than welcome."

Like Mycroft, Molly was not a fan of parties or big social gatherings. But this one sounded just her style – not too big, not in a club or large space, good food and drink, at least one person she would know. And frankly, anything sounded better than sitting alone in her flat with only a bottle of wine and self-pity for company.

So, with a small but genuinely grateful smile on her face, Molly said, "Sure, that sounds like fun."

"Good!" said Helena, smiling back as they sat down at a table. "It officially starts at nine, but come anytime you like. And don't feel like you have to really dress up – it's a pub after all."

"Lovely," said Molly with a smile that didn't feel as forced as she thought it would, and the two colleagues dug into their lunch.

* * *

The first thing that Anthea did when she hung up after Molly had called for what felt like the hundredth time since Christmas was heave a great sigh. Yet again, Molly had called asking if she could speak to Mycroft. And yet again, Anthea had to give the answer that her boss had ordered her to give for the time being: Mycroft his held up with a current crisis at work, and can't speak to you right now, and does not know when he will be able to get back to her.

_In other words, _thought Anthea, _a lie. Though it is understandable why he does not want me to give him the honest reason: "I'm sorry, Molly, but Mycroft is avoiding you like the plague because he is terrified of how much he has fallen for you, not to mention he believes that you could never feel the same for him because he believes you still carry a torch for his pest of a brother." No, that wouldn't do at all…but at least she would know the truth and not sound so sad on the phone._

Of course, Mycroft had not confided in Anthea personally about any of this, but like Molly, Anthea was an incredibly intelligent and perceptive woman. Her role often required her to be silent and invisible, and her blackberry was her best disguise. To others, the gadget seemed to captivate her entire attention, blinding her to the rest of the world. On the contrary, Anthea _always _listened and _always _kept an eye on what was going on around her. Like Molly, her power laid in not drawing attention to herself.

Quiet as a mouse, Anthea went to Mycroft's office door, which was open just a crack. He'd been spending all of his free time in there since Christmas, including the time that he usually spent at the Diogenes Club. Sometimes he did indeed work, but other times he would just sit behind his desk looking miserable. Peeking inside, Anthea saw that Mycroft was doing the latter pathetically. His head rested in his hand with his eyes closed, as if battling a headache. But Anthea knew that he was really trying not to think about Molly – a task which he was not only failing at miserably, but was most likely giving him a real headache.

With that, Anthea made her decision. _Enough is enough_, she thought as she walked away from his office door and pulled out her blackberry. She had a call to make.

* * *

"Sir?"

Slowly, Mycroft lifted his head from his hand and looked at Anthea, standing in his now-open office doorway with a pleasant smile on her face. "Yes?" he asked wearily, praying to whatever deity existed that Anthea was not going to inform him that Molly had called for him – again- and cause him to feel even worse.

"There's an urgent Skype call coming in for you from Lieutenant Hooper. Will you take it?"

His dread was instantly replaced by surprise. He'd been expecting one Hooper and got the other one instead. But this time, Mycroft would not refuse the call, since it wasn't the Hooper he was behaving like a bloody coward about. Also, considering where Molly's brother was and that he was using valuable free time to call him as opposed to his sister, Mycroft couldn't consider refusing.

"Patch him through," he said, sitting back up and wiping his face with the handkerchief in his breast pocket – one of the handkerchief that Molly had given him the Christmas before last. He'd always worn one ever since he'd received them, and even now, he couldn't bear pushing away everything of her.

Anthea nodded with a pleased smile, and typed away a few commands on her blackberry. A moment later, the iPad in front of Mycroft on his desk lit up with the Skype alert. After Anthea had exited the office and closed the door, Mycroft answered the call. Instantly, David's face appeared before him, with a smile on his face but a determination in his eyes.

"Hello, Mycroft! Happy New Year to you, or almost anyway."

"Same to you, too, David," answered Mycroft. "I hope that you had a good Christmas, or as good as it could be away from your sister."

David nodded. "Yes, it was quite nice. On that subject, I wanted to thank you. When I called my sister on Christmas Eve, she told me what a wonderful time she was having thanks to your gesture. I'm glad she didn't have to spend the holiday alone."

"So am I, David, and it was the least I could do for her," said Mycroft, swallowing his present guilt and forcing a smile onto his face.

David nodded, and then his smile disappeared completely. "So…why, if she was so happy on Christmas, is she so miserable now? And why is she spending this holiday alone when she spent the last one in good company?"

Mycroft's attempt at a smile dropped, too, as quickly as his guilt that he'd swallowed dropped into his stomach like a lead weight. Looking at David's face on the screen, his resemblance to his sister, especially the brown eyes, was striking. Just as Mycroft knew that he could never lie to Molly while looking her in the eye, he knew that he couldn't lie to her brother, either.

His face coloring with shame, Mycroft looked at his lap for a moment before meeting David's eyes again. "That is my fault…I wish that I could give you a good reason, but all of my reasons are purely selfish…"

David nodded. "Perhaps, but quite understandable. Love is a scary thing." At the look of surprise that passed over Mycroft's face, David held up a hand. "Please don't deny it; your actions make it perfectly obvious. Everything you've done for her since your brother's death – offering her a sanctuary, becoming friends, pulling strings to bring me home for her birthday, letting her spend Christmas with you and your family – are more than enough evidence. But leaving all that aside, the glow in your eyes when you talked about her after we met…don't deny it, Mycroft."

Mycroft gulped, but held David's gaze when he answered him. "I won't…though it was only over Christmas that I realized my true feelings."

"Ah," said David, nodding in understanding. "And that's why you're avoiding her now." He paused before continuing in a more gentle tone. "What are you so scared of, Mycroft?"

Sighing, Mycroft rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. He hadn't expected to be forced into a therapy session of sorts today with the younger brother of the woman he loved. But he also knew that it was the right thing to do; this situation couldn't go on forever.

"David…I've no right to demand more from her. I'm not the Holmes that holds her heart."

A moment of silence, and then David actually chuckled. Before Mycroft could become affronted, David spoke with a glint in his eyes. "That's not what she told me."

Mycroft said nothing in response, but his facial expression told David plainly that he needed to elaborate on what he meant immediately. So he told Mycroft about conversation he and Molly had when he'd been home regarding Sherlock. He made it as clear as possible to Mycroft that, while Molly did indeed have an infatuation with Sherlock and still cared deeply for him, her heart did not and never did lie with the consulting detective, because of the way he had made her feel about herself.

Mycroft spent the next ninety seconds after David had finished processing what he'd told him. He knew that David would not lie to him, just like Molly never would, but what he was hearing seemed too good to be true. "You are…certain, David?" he finally asked in a hushed voice.

"I know my sister, Mycroft," he answered simply. "As for how she feels about you…she's never told me that because she would never dream of telling anybody, even me, before she would tell you. But I think you are being incredibly stupid to assume without correct evidence what she feels about you."

Mycroft had no reply to this, for David was right. He looked down at his hands resting on his lap, which were still holding – and unconsciously caressing – the embroidered handkerchief.

"Mycroft, look at me."

The older man lifted his head to meet David's serious gaze.

"It's bad enough that my job prevents me from seeing my sister more than a few days out of the year, but it's even worse that there's always a chance that, every time I leave, I may not come back home alive. Molly knows this as well as I do, even though we never address that out loud. That's why I need to know that, if something ever does happen to me over here, she will eventually be okay. I need to know that she will not be alone, that she will be taken care of, and that she will be loved. You've given me that hope, Mycroft. But it won't come to anything if you won't be brave enough to be honest with Molly, and give her the chance to be honest with you."

It was exactly what Mycroft needed to hear. Within a minute of David's last words in his speech, Mycroft had sat up straight and leaned forward a bit, his gaze never leaving David's on the screen. "Thank you, David. I'll make sure she does not spend this holiday alone."

Lieutenant Hooper smiled a true smile. "Thank you, Mycroft," he said. "And good luck."

"You too, David," said Mycroft. "I'll give Molly your love."

"She already knows about that, Mycroft. What matters now is that you give her yours. Godspeed."

With one last smile, David signed off. Mycroft then lifted the handkerchief from his lap, folded it neatly and put it back into his breast pocket.

He was ready now.

* * *

As the countdown began, Molly knew that coming to this party had been a bad idea. It was bad enough that she had nobody to bring in the new year with, but that the only person she wanted to do that with – kiss and all – seemed to want nothing to do with her right now. Of course, it was completely plausible that there really was a crisis the British government had to deal with now, as Anthea kept telling her. But then, why couldn't Mycroft spare less than a minute to tell her that himself? Surely he was not so busy that he couldn't do at least that? All Molly knew that if she didn't hear from him personally soon…her fears that he was using work as an excuse not to see her would be confirmed in her mind and heart.

Hadn't she learned her lesson about parties that terrible Christmas a few years ago? Apparently not, as the countdown ended and everyone shouted, "Happy New Year!" before turning to their partner and locking lips. In Molly's line of sight, it appeared that she was the only one without a partner. _Surprise, surprise, _she thought glumly.

Turning away from the joyous PDA's as the small band in the pub began to play "Auld Lang Syne," Molly walked out of the pub through the glass doors at the back and into the tiny garden behind the pub. Since it was now January, the air was cold, and Molly had not grabbed her coat. So she wrapped her shawl tightly around her bare shoulders, looking down at her new, navy-blue, cocktail dress.

_Serves me right for trying to dress up, _she thought bitterly, hot tears falling from her eyes. _It's not as if there's anybody here I want to look pretty for…_

Lost in her lonely and sorrowful thoughts, Molly didn't hear the footsteps approach her from behind. But then, a very familiar and intoxicating scent filled her nostrils as she pitifully sniffed. In the next moment, she felt considerably warmer and realized that a fine winter coat of black wool had been draped over her shoulders. A coat as familiar to her as the scent, and just as beloved…which could only mean…

Turning around, Molly sighed in relief and smiled. There stood Mycroft less than a foot from her, in an immaculate gray suit and with a very vulnerable expression in his eyes. They immediately became tinged with worry when he saw the tears on her cheeks, and that changed to regret as he lifted his hands to her face.

As he cupped her cheeks and brushed away her tears with his thumbs, Molly's heart melted at how warm his hands were and how glad that she felt just to be near him again. Her own hands lifted and held his wrists, caressing them as reassuringly as she could.

When Mycroft's gaze shifted from her cheeks to her eyes, each let their gazes lie naked before the other, hiding no emotions or feelings. Within Mycroft's nervous vulnerability and Molly's relieved reassurance, there was great love that went well beyond friendship. And both hearts saw it and rejoiced.

After a moment that seemed to last a lifetime, Mycroft found his bravery. He lowered his head, his intent crystal clear, and Molly closed her eyes peacefully. Their lips connected in their first kiss. It was chaste, it was gentle, and it was glorious.

As their lips parted, the band began playing a new, slower song, obviously meant for the couples inside to slow-dance to. It had the desired effect for the new couple in the garden, as well. Quite naturally, their arms wrapped around each other and they began to sway gently to the rhythm, cheek to cheek. While their minds whirled about the great step that had been taken in their relationship, their hearts were at peace for finally recognizing their counterparts in each other.

* * *

**A/N: **_I didn't want to drag it out until Sherlock's return, so I hope that this chapter satisfies you. :) More to come soon! I'm looking forward to writing some adorable fluff! Please review!_


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

After the song and thus their dance was over, Molly and Mycroft stepped away from each other. But Mycroft kept her right hand in his left, lacing their fingers together as they made their way out of the back garden and back inside. As they walked through the pub, Molly caught Helen's eye, and the nurse gave her a happy and impressed smirk. Molly could only blush. At the coat rack, Molly gave Mycroft back his coat before putting her own back on. He took her hand again as they exited the pub. They hadn't taken three steps away from the front door when one of his elegant black cars had driven up and stopped at the curb in front of them.

Molly gave a short laugh. "One of these days, you're going to tell me how you do that," she said.

Mycroft leaned down to speak lowly into her ear. "Mustn't give all of my secrets away at once, my dear."

Molly shivered at his warm breath caressing her ear, and her cheeks flamed at the term of endearment. It was the first time she had heard it voice since Christmas. She could only give him a shy smile in response.

Ever the gentleman, Mycroft opened the back passenger door for her to enter the car. Once she was settled inside, he came in from the other side and told the driver to take them to Molly's residence. For a brief moment, Molly's heart stopped and wondered if Mycroft meant to be dropped off with her, but she soon dismissed that thought. Mycroft knew her well enough to know that she was nowhere near ready to go that far just yet, and that she had to work in the morning so even just further conversation would be unwise tonight.

While the car made its journey, the two passengers were silence. It wasn't tense in a bad way, exactly, but it was a silence that was certainly not quiet. Looking over at Mycroft, she saw that he was looking forward neutrally, and Molly realized that the presence of the driver prevented any personal conversations or acts. So, knowing that the driver couldn't see the seats, Molly reached over discreetly and took his hand, which was resting beside his thigh. He immediately entwined their fingers, though his head did not turn and his expression did not change. Molly relaxed and watched the city go by for the rest of the ride.

When the car came to a stop in front of her building, she turned to Mycroft, unsure of what to say or do since they were not alone in the car.

He gave her a small, warm smile that echoed in his eyes. "Come to the Diogenes tomorrow when I'll be there, and we'll have a talk."

Molly nodded and said, "Okay."

The expression in his eyes grew even warmer. "Good night, Molly." He squeezed her hand.

Molly smiled and squeezed his hand right back. "Good night, Mycroft."

It took all of her strength to break his gaze and get out of the car without kissing him, but she remembered the presence of his driver and the promise of tomorrow. So she did, and goodness it was hard! She hurried up the front steps of her building, and at the front door she turned around. The windows of the car were tinted, so she couldn't see him anymore, but she knew that he could see her. So she blew a kiss to the back window before she turned around and headed inside.

If only she could have seen Mycroft put a hand to his heart as the car drove away.

* * *

Though Molly slept as peacefully as a lamb that night, all through her shift tomorrow she was a nervous wreck. After days of loneliness and silence, had last night been just a wishful dream? She'd never had a dream, awake or asleep, so vivid or so wonderful, so surely not…but there was still a lingering doubt in Molly's mind. After all, this was Mycroft, the Ice Man, Holmes. Could he really, truly, want to be with her? _Her, _of all people?

By the time her shift had ended, Molly's nerves were absolutely frazzled. Since she couldn't stop home in between work and the Diogenes, Molly had put more effort into dressing for the day: her best gray slacks, a robin's egg blue blouse, and a black cardigan that was far more elegant than her usual frumpy ones. In the locker room, she brushed out her long hair from her braid, so it hung in pretty waves down her back. She debated about whether to put on a bit of lipstick or mascara, but ultimately decided against it when she remembered a comment Mycroft had made to her long ago:

_"While there are many things I could say that you do not need that you have in your personal style, Molly, I feel no qualms in telling you that cosmetics are one of them." _

Both the lipstick and the mascara found their way to the trash before Molly left Bart's for the Diogenes.

* * *

Molly's heart was pounding when she came to the door of Mycroft's private room. She smoothed her hair with her free hand – the other of which was clutching the straps of her purse in a death grip – before taking a deep breath and quietly opening the door.

When she saw Mycroft, her nerves instantly settled in adoring relief. The man was pacing in front of the lit fireplace with his hands behind his back, just like his younger brother would if he were waiting for results in the lab. The only difference was that Mycroft moved at a slower pace, as if forcing himself not to go as fast as he wanted to.

Smiling, Molly shut the door firmly behind her, catching his attention. He turned on his heel and faced Molly, his face immediately likening to that of a man who'd been caught red-handed. "Oh! Hello, Molly."

"Hello, Mycroft," she said, still smiling at him.

Clearing his throat, he walked towards her almost awkwardly. "Here, allow me to take your coat," he said formally.

Molly stopped him by putting her free hand on his chest. Her expression became more serious but no less adoring when she spoke. "You know me, Mycroft," she said softly. "I'm still me. I haven't changed, so please don't treat me like a different person."

Hearing her words, his body relaxed and his gazed warmed. He took her hand from his chest and kissed her knuckles. "Let's sit down, then," he said.

He led her to the sofa, and they sat down next to each other, still holding hands. Molly absently thought of how this perfectly represented how things had changed between the two now. In the past, Mycroft would sit in the armchair and she would be on the sofa. They sat together in silence for a while, not knowing who should or how to begin this important conversation. Finally, the both of them tried to be brave at the same time.

"I've never –"

"I know that –"

It was the most perfect thing that could have happen, because the both of them started to softly laugh. The tension was immediately broken, replaced by a warmth that came straight from their hearts and flooded the room. Their gazes fell on their joined hands, and Molly covered them with her free one.

"You go first," she said when their laughter had faded.

Mycroft added his free hand to complete the display of affection. "Very well." He took a deep breath and their gazes met again. "Molly…I will not lie to you. I do not know how this will seem to you, but I have…I have never engaged in a romantic relationship with anybody."

Molly slowly nodded in response. "On one level, that doesn't surprise me. You've come incredibly far and achieved so much in terms of your career, and no one can make it that far unless they are able to commit themselves to that completely. And the demeanor you present to everyone else makes it perfectly clear to most that you stand alone, that you need no one else."

Mycroft sighed. "But you saw through that, just as you saw through my brother's haughty exterior. You are an incredible person, Molly Hooper, intuitive and empathetic on a level that my brother and I, with all of our intelligence, could never hope to achieve."

Touched to the core of her heart, Molly had to take a moment to swallow the lump in her throat and forcefully blink away the tears that filled her eyes. "I…that's…one of the loveliest things anybody ever said to me," she said to their joined hands.

Mycroft lifted one from them and lifted her face so their eyes met again. "Because it is the truth," he said quietly.

Overwhelmed, Molly leaned forward and kissed his lips. Mycroft gasped in surprise, but reciprocated with equal fervor, his fingers slipping to the back of her neck. But she soon ended the kiss, her cheeks flooding with blood and her eyes downcast. "I'm sorry, I –"

Mycroft silenced her with another quick, chaste kiss. "There will never be a need to apologize to me for _that_, Molly…may I hope for the same?"

Smiling, Molly nodded, and they sat back while joining their hands together again. As much as the two of them enjoyed kissing each other, they both knew that there had to be some talking before there could be more kissing.

"So…" Molly began tentatively. "You say that you've never been involved in a romantic relationship before, and I believe you, Mycroft. But does that mean that you've…you've never…"

Mycroft saved her by interrupting her. "Unfortunately, my inexperience in romance does not mean I am inexperienced sexually. I was no different than any other teenage boy when I experienced puberty. When I was at Oxford as an undergraduate, I satisfied my curiosity and cravings several times…not my proudest moments. I was recruited to the government straight after graduation, and since then I have been celibate."

Molly nodded, noticing the shame coloring his face. "I understand, and I don't think any less of you for it. Honestly, it relieves me a bit."

"That I am not truly the Ice Man?" he said, giving a small, relieved smile.

Molly smiled in return before taking a deep breath of her own. "If it makes you feel any better, I've only ever had two romantic relationships."

Mycroft couldn't help but feel surprised; when you're in love with somebody, you can't believe that every other person would not fall in love with the one who holds your heart. "You never dated anybody else?"

"Oh, dates I've had my fair share of, but only two of those people did I date long enough for it to become a relationship, both romantically and sexually." Noticing his look, Molly didn't know how to feel except to explain. "I've not exactly been lucky in this area. Most of the men I've met immediately lose interest when they find out my profession. The only two that didn't…well, just didn't work out."

Mycroft slowly nodded, and decided not to push the subject if she did not want to elaborate further right now. While he despised the fact that so many men were too shallow to look past her profession, he respected and admired Molly even more. He'd already known that his Molly was not the kind of woman to bring a man home after the first date, but learning that her past was not any more or less colorful than his own relieved him greatly.

Molly spoke again. "I can understand why you haven't willingly engaged in a romantic relationship before…but have you really never wanted to? Ever?"

Mycroft suddenly got a distant look in his eyes; it was as if Molly could see a wall suddenly going up. "Once, in my uni days, but that temptation did not last beyond one night."

Knowing that she shouldn't push the subject now based on his body language, Molly squeezed his hands and spoke again. "So…why now?"

His gaze returned to her. Warmth once again filled his eyes, but there was also something akin to fear. "Because never before in my life have I felt what I feel for you. I won't deny that my first instinct was to run from it, as you've guessed by now is why I've avoided you like a coward since Christmas. But yesterday afternoon, thanks to a P.A. who knows how to do her job too well sometimes, I had a video conversation with your brother."

Molly's eyes lit up as she smiled. "You talked to David?"

"I certainly did. He knew before either of us where our relationship was going, and he helped to give me the courage I needed to step forward with you. He did that by saying words of wisdom beyond his years, and thoroughly discrediting my biggest insecurity."

"Wha…" Molly began to say, and then her eyes lit in sober recognition before answering her own question. "Sherlock."

Mycroft nodded.

Holding his hands tightly, Molly held his gaze with fierce and serious sincerity. "I'm glad that you believed him, Mycroft, because he's right. I never once felt good about myself with Sherlock, even when I was so infatuated with him and not even when I was helping him with the Fall. He only ever saw me as a means to an end, be it for body parts or faking his death.

"But you…you never had any real reason to approach me. I'm sure you did thorough background checks on me when it became clear that I was the only person who could work with Sherlock, and the fact that Sherlock chose to trust me in the Fall must have been more than enough for you to know that I wouldn't betray him, since there are so few that he truly trusts. Honestly, it amazes me every day that you go out of your way to be my friend."

Mycroft smiled. "Never once has it felt like going out of my way, Molly. It both fascinates and terrifies me, because that's never happened with anybody before. It both fascinates and terrifies me…but isn't that the best reason to pursue anything?"

Molly joyfully returned his smile and nodded. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who's nervous."

Silence descended again, and a bit of shy awkwardness crept back in between them. "So…how do we proceed, Molly Hooper?" asked Mycroft.

Somehow not surprised that Mycroft had handed her the power to proceed, Molly looked at their hands before bravely suggesting, "Well…perhaps we should…go on a date. Do something that signifies the change in our relationship, help solidify it in our minds. Of course it should be something that we would both enjoy and feel comfortable doing, especially with each other. What do you think?"

Molly couldn't hide her nervousness from him as she asked, forcing herself to look at his face rather than their hands. A few moments of silence, and then a sparkle came to Mycroft's eyes. "May I make a suggestion?"

Molly nodded eagerly.

"There is a cinema in Covent Garden that will be screening a film tonight that I believe you are fond of. Apparently, it is a film that has become synonymous with celebrating the new year, called _When Harry Met Sally…_"

Molly couldn't help but gasp, for she was indeed surprised – and absolutely delighted! "Really? You would really want to? Please don't feel you have to in order to please me."

"I'm not, Molly. In fact, I am genuinely curious. I remember last year, just after we became friends, you mentioning to me that you would watch it on New Year's Day, and that you would ask me to join you if you thought I would like that sort of thing. Well, I also remember wondering why I suddenly wished you had asked me, even though I was quite positive that I would not, in fact, like it. Now I would like to know for sure if I would like it or not, and even if I don't, I will enjoy watching you enjoy it."

Molly didn't need to think twice to say yes.

* * *

The weather that evening was pleasant for a London winter, without snow or rain, so Molly and Mycroft decided to walk from the theatre to her flat, where he would see her to her door and then be driven to his own residence. At first, Molly hadn't known what to do when they began walking, sure that Mycroft would not be one for hand-holding in public, let alone any public display of affection. Thankfully, he had solved that dilemma soon after they'd left the theatre by taking her hand and then tucking it into the crook of his elbow. The gesture was so formal, so Victorian, and so _him…_Molly knew she wouldn't have it any other way.

For a while, the pair walked in silence. Molly could tell that Mycroft was in his mind now, mulling something over, most likely the film. Was he trying to find a way of breaking it to her gently that it certainly hadn't been his cup of tea? During the screening, Molly had focused on the film, resisting the temptation to look at him during her favorite parts, not wanting to see either boredom or displeasure. However, he'd kept her hand in his throughout the entire film, and that had given her great comfort.

Finally, Mycroft broke the silence. "Tell me what it is you like about this film so much, Molly."

Molly was relieved that he sounded curious rather than criticizing. "Well…I love the writing, the actors work so well off each other…but mostly I love that it's a story about friendship as much as romance. So many romance stories are all about lust, passion, temptation, sex…as if that's what makes a real relationship work. But of course that can't be all there is! Those things are all well and good only if you love being with the person you love just as much as when you're not doing those things as when you are."

"Hmm…an excellent argument," said Mycroft decisively. "And I believe the film is right in conveying that. It certainly had its merits, though I must admit I am very glad that we only took a year to come to our senses rather than twelve."

Molly laughed and squeezed his arm. "I'm glad you liked it, Mycroft."

"Truth be told, what made me like it the most was watching your reactions," said Mycroft softly. "I can't despise anything that brings you joy, Molly."

Touched, Molly rested her cheek against his bicep, since she was not quite tall enough to rest her head on his shoulder.

When they came to her building, Molly opened the front door with her key, and led Mycroft inside so they could stand alone in the dark front hall. Molly took both of his hands in hers, and spoke from the heart.

"Mycroft…I won't ever pretend to have all the answers moving forward, and I know that you won't either. Thinking about it, that's how we felt a year ago when our friendship began. All we could do was move forward together, day by day, with open honesty and trust. And I want us to do that now."

Mycroft pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her petite frame as she wrapped hers around his slim one. Resting his forehead against hers, blue eyes bore into brown ones.

"Yes…I absolutely agree…because the very last thing I want…is to lose you."

And just like that, Molly wanted to cry. So she buried her face in his chest, holding him as tightly as she could. All she could say was a plea straight from the depths of her soul: "Then don't…you won't."

He kissed her temple as he held her close in true promise. "No, I will not."

* * *

**A/N: **_Awww, aren't they sweet? This certainly won't be a relationship where they jump right into bed, which is what I wanted to convey in this chapter. The story I'm telling will be sweet rather than spicy – though I certainly am not saying there will not be spicy moments, they just won't come right away. And in case I didn't make myself clear, the movie I mentioned is a fantastic movie and I highly recommend! I hope you are still enjoying this, and please review!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

For Molly and Mycroft, the words softly spoken to each other followed by a tender kiss became their resolution. And when they parted, with Molly going upstairs to her flat and Mycroft exiting the building to walk home, both resolved in their hearts to keep that resolution for as long as they could. Hopefully, it would last well beyond the new year of 2013.

* * *

Every day possible – the days when Mycroft was not abroad or Molly was not working a second or third shift – Mycroft and Molly would see each other in their private room of the Diogenes Club. Molly would usually arrive first by a few minutes, and be curled into her favorite corner of the sofa with a book when Mycroft would come in. Usually, they would smile at each other before he would join her; sometimes they would read aloud, sometimes they would talk, and sometimes they would just share a cuddle while watching the fire in the grate flicker away.

On this late afternoon in late January, however, no smile was on or appeared on Mycroft's face when he entered their private room. Molly looked up from _Far From The Madding Crowd_ and started to smile, but the attempt dropped when she drank him in. The poor man looked like he had the world – no, _Jupiter_ – on his shoulders, and that his head weighed just as much. He took off his winter outerwear and gray blazer slowly, wearily, and only when he'd hung those up did he look at Molly.

"Oh…hello, my dear…" His voice was tired and hollow, truly worn out.

"Bad day, was it?" she inquired gently, her worry growing the more she took in from him.

He sighed and nodded wearily as he walked towards his desk, briefcase in hand. "The worst kind of bad day, I'm afraid: the type that seems to last a year instead of a day because one thing after another comes up without mercy." He set his briefcase down on the desk when he reached it as though it weighed a ton. "And it isn't over yet…I have a meeting at eight o'clock sharp with the prime minister, and I'm afraid there are still a few things I have to put in order before then. Forgive me, Molly."

"Of course, Mycroft, I understand," said Molly reassuringly.

Her words seemed to bring him relief, but only just, for soon he was behind his desk and immersed in paperwork he'd pulled from his briefcase. Molly watched him for a moment and then turned back to her book. But as the minutes ticked by, Molly found it harder and harder to concentrate on Thomas Hardy's engrossing novel. Each time she heard Mycroft heave a weary sigh, her heart would twist a little. Quite soon, Molly shut her book and looked at the fire, her mind trying to come up with some way she could help him. Her first thought was to try and take Mycroft away from his paperwork for a while, but she knew how important his job was, and if he said it had to be done then it had to be done. She certainly didn't want to piss the prime minister off, anyway.

_But perhaps, _Molly thought as she looked at her beau again, _I can make it a little easier for him._

As he winced and rubbed his neck, her idea came to her. With a small smile, Molly got up from the sofa and softly walked over to the desk where he sat. He was so hunched over and engrossed in his paperwork that he didn't even noticed she had moved until he felt her gentle hands rest on his shoulders. He was so surprised that he dropped the pen he had been holding. "Molly, what –"

"Shh," said Molly, who began to move her hands. "Just give me a few minutes. I promise that England won't sink into the sea in the meantime."

Mycroft only nodded, somewhat dazed and honestly relieved to have an excuse to take a little break. And what a wonderful excuse it was! It seemed that Molly's small hands were not only skilled with a scalpel and bone saw, but also at easing out the tensions and knots in stressed muscles. Mycroft relaxed further and further by the moment, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. Her lovely and natural scent, along with her soft and skilled hands on his shoulders and neck, were the perfect healing balm that he'd needed all day.

The few minutes turned out to be a wonderful ten, and when Molly was finished, she smoothed the shirt fabric over his shoulders and straightened his collar. "Better?" she asked.

Mycroft could only nod. Smiling, Molly leaned down and kissed his cheek before walking back to the sofa.

As she opened her novel again, she heard Mycroft's pen scratching away at the paperwork. Satisfied, Molly easily became pulled back into Thomas Hardy's first masterpiece. However, she was pulled back up to reality when Mycroft lifted her chin to meet his eyes. He was smiling, his face close to hers. "Your actions may have just saved the fate of the Western hemisphere."

Molly grinned back, the tip of her nose brushing against his. "Well, it's my duty to the British government to be the best citizen that I can be," she teased cheekily.

He brushed her lips with his in the lightest of kisses. "And don't think I won't return the favor..." But before she could make it a real kiss, he pulled back with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "But right now, duty calls."

Molly stuck her tongue out at him once his back was turned to get his coat, but his chuckle made it all too clear that he knew how she was reacting. When he turned to her before opening the door, she was smiling again. "Go get'em, Secret Agent Man," she said, tilting her head and batting her eyes.

He couldn't hold back a small groan before heading out the door, muttering something about "being the death of me" before the door shut.

Giggling, Molly hid her face in her open book. Never before had she been this flirty, this teasing, even with her previous boyfriends! With Mycroft, she felt so at ease and herself, and she was relieved that he seemed have the same freedom with her. "The death of _me_, you mean," she muttered with a last giggle before taking up her book again.

* * *

The sound of her Skype ringtone going off took Molly's attention away from the article she'd been reading online about the effect of poisons on skin cell decay. With a delighted smile, Molly answered the ring and her brother's face appeared on her screen. What surprised her, though, was that the expression on David's face was of surprise, disappointment, and even anger.

"Well, I'm going to have to kill him now," he said by way of greeting.

"What? What are you talking about?" asked Molly, thoroughly confused.

"It's Valentine's Day and he hasn't taken you out!"

"Oh!" said Molly, laughing as she realized what her little brother meant. "Well, I saw him earlier at our club, and we had a nice, quiet time there. But we'd both worked long shifts before seeing each other, and neither of us felt like going out anywhere. So, since we'd already spent a lovely time together, we both decided to call it a night and go home. You'll see I'm all settled in bed, and just in case you have any more doubts –" Molly turned her laptop around until it faced her bureau, on top of which was a vase full of beautiful orchids.

Turning her laptop back to her with a satisfied smile, Molly saw that her brother looking relieved and a bit mollified. "Okay, good…sorry, Mo, I just wanted to be sure all was well."

Molly smiled lovingly at his image. "It's alright, D. I'll never get tired of my little brother trying to protect me. But in all honesty, you have no reason to worry."

"That's such a wonderful thing to hear, Mo," said David warmly. "I can't deny that I hoped things would progress this way when I made my visit. I could see how good the two of you were for each other, even though I never saw the two of you together. Just the way your eyes glowed when you talked about each other, it could only be a matter of time."

Molly had to take a deep breath to try and calm the heat radiating from her cheeks. "Well, as always, your intuition was right. But enough about me, how are _you _doing?"

If possible, David's smile widened. "I was waiting for you to ask that. Well, my dear sister, it is very probable that, by this time next year, I will be residing in London, England."

Molly's gasp and smile were so big that not even her hands coming up to cover her mouth could stifle them. "Oh, David! Oh, my goodness! How wonderful, I can't even…Oh, I'm so happy!"

"That makes two of us," said David, grinning at his sister's joyous reaction. "Of course I'll miss my comrades and the good work I'm doing here, but I'm more than ready to begin a new chapter in my life."

"Oh, I know, D, I know," said Molly compassionately, for she did indeed know. During his leave, in one of their more intimate conversations, her brother had confided in her how he was beginning to want more and more for something more stable, for the possibility of settling down, even starting a family.

"It's still early days, and officially I shouldn't be saying anything yet, but I promise I'll let you know when I find out more, Mo," said David. Then there came a call off-screen on David's side; he turned his head and gave a sharp nod before turning back to his sister's image. "Sorry, I've gotta go."

"It's ok, you go do your duty," said Molly, still reeling from happiness.

"I'll see you later, Mo," David said, blowing her a kiss. "I love you."

"I love you so much, D," Molly said, blowing a kiss of her own. "Stay safe, ok?"

"Will do." And with that, he signed off.

* * *

A spring in London, especially the month of March, was never dry and rarely very warm, but occasionally one of those lovely days would pop up. Not even the British Government could control the weather, so it was a stroke of pure luck that the day he'd gotten tickets for a show at the Globe Theatre happened to be one of those rare spring days of lovely weather. He thanked whatever deity existed – for he was open to the concept of one if not completely convinced – for this, because he wanted every date or outing with a certain pathologist to be as perfect as possible.

And so far, this one was going wonderfully.

Mycroft and Molly were sitting in a private box at the Globe Theatre, watching a production of _Much Ado About Nothing. _This was Molly's favorite of the Shakespeare comedies, so she'd been delighted when Mycroft had surprised her with tickets. She sat leaning forward, resting her chin and arms on the railing, completely engrossed in the story as it unfolded on the stage. Mycroft, however, found himself watching his companion more than the play, for he found the most delight in watching her expressions and reactions. Unlike him, Molly couldn't help but wear her heart on her sleeve and her emotions on her face like an open book. It was occasions like this where Mycroft took pure delight in that, especially when she laughed (which was quite frequently this evening).

After the curtain had gone down for an intermission, Molly relaxed back into her cushioned seat with a content smile on her face. Mycroft's small smile widened. "Enjoying yourself, then?"

"How can I not?" she replied, beaming. "This incredible theatre, amazing seats, my favorite Shakespeare comedy, you…can't beat that." She looked at him, a new hint of worry filling her eyes. "And you? I hope _you're _enjoying yourself, too, and didn't just do this for my benefit."  
Mycroft chuckled and briefly squeezed her hand (he was very careful about public displays of affection). "Don't worry, my dear. The production is well done and this is one of Shakespeare's best comedies, alongside _As You Like It._"

"And don't forget _Twelfth Night_," added Molly. However, when Mycroft said nothing and got a slightly pained look on his face, Molly's smile dropped and her eyes narrowed. "What? How can you not like _Twelfth Night_?"

Looking apologetic but somehow vague, Mycroft replied, "Well, it's not _bad, _per se, just…not my favorite. There are several reasons…I've always found Malvolio's plight more tragic than comic…well, at least it's far better than _The Comedy of Errors, _at any rate."

Molly's eyebrows shot up. "What's wrong with _Comedy of Errors_?"

Mycroft shrugged. "It's one of his earliest works, and it's a bit too…rough about the edges for my taste. Besides, I've never been one for complete farces, anyway."

Molly could sense that there was more than Mycroft was keeping from her, but decided not to push. In the months she had come to know and care for this man, Molly had learned that when he did not want to talk about something, the best thing to do was let it go for now and be patient. The majority of this man's career was covering up and keeping secrets, and this was not a man who was used to confiding in anybody. Though Mycroft had definitely gotten better since they had found each other, even more so after their romantic feelings had been acknowledged, there was still a very long way to go, emotionally and physically. Those three little words had not yet been said, and their physical relationship had yet to go past kissing. But Molly was a patient woman who understood him very well. So, in this situation, Molly let it go and knew that, when he was ready, he would tell her what he couldn't say now.

"Well," she said. "All that I care about now is that you like _this _one, since it's my favorite. Otherwise, there would be a real problem."

"Yes, I do like _Much Ado…_although…"

Molly's gaze immediately sharpened, ready to defend her beloved favorite comedy.

"Though the witty banter between Beatrice and Benedick is always a delight to listen to, has it never bothered you that they were brought together through their friend's deceit?"

Molly took a moment to think about it. True, Beatrice and Benedick started out the play as two independent spirits who scorned love and marriage by needling each other mercilessly. It was only when their respected friends staged conversations they would overhear, saying that the other was hopelessly in love with them but hiding it, that their rivalry would change to love. As in all Shakespeare comedies, the play ended with all couples happy and in love, with Benedick and Beatrice more than happy to toss away their former opinions and be happy together.

"Hmm…" said Molly, thinking it through. A minute later, her expression became serene and she shook her head. "No, it doesn't bother me. I mean, do you acknowledge that the pair are a good match for each other?"

Mycroft nodded slowly.

"And that they never _hated _each other, per se, but allowed their pride and stubbornness to keep them at odds, and what their friends did was the best way to break those tough barriers?"

Mycroft said, "I suppose…"

"Then it doesn't bother me. Love doesn't always begin in an ideal 'boy meets girl, love at first sight, Cinderella story' way, especially in this day and age. I mean…" She suddenly became almost shy and averted her gaze to the playbill she held. "If it weren't for…the terrible situation with Sherlock…would we be here now?"

Her voice had grown quite quiet, and her cheeks were aflame. But when she felt a cool pair of fingers brush her right cheek, her gaze lifted to meet her beau's gaze. His blue eyes held worlds of warmth. "Quite so, my dear…I believe this play shall forevermore be my favorite of Shakespeare's comedies."

Before Molly could say anything more, the lights dimmed and the curtain rose again. Both turned their attention back to the production, and neither failed to notice that their hands had found their way to each other by the end.

* * *

Since Molly and Mycroft had taken their relationship to a romantic level, she and Anthea too had become closer. Now they considered themselves true and close friends. Mycroft always made sure to give Anthea a free afternoon off each week to match up with when Molly would be free so the two ladies could have what he called "feminine bonding time." Both ladies always laughed at that awkward term.

This particular day in early April found the two women sharing a latte in Anthea's favorite café in Covent Garden. "So, any news about your brother?" asked the P.A.

Molly smiled a big smile, as she always did at the mention of her brother. "He has two more months of active duty before he takes an honorable discharge. He'll then spend the summer getting acclimatized to London before officially starting his new work!" David had a job lined up in the government, acting as a translator for visiting diplomats and politicians.

"Any luck in finding him a place of his own?" asked Anthea.

Molly huffed a sigh. "Not yet. I'll have no problems if he has to stay with me for a while when he comes home – even as children, he was never hard to share living space with – but I know he'll want to have his own space sooner rather than later. After all, living with one's big sister is alright for the short-term but in the long-term…"

"I understand," laughed Anthea. "Well, if you'd like, I can do a little under-the-radar real estate research, and we can look at my results when we get together next week."

"Excellent!" said Molly gleefully. "I _do _love having friends in high places. But let's move on and get to what I wanted to discuss with you."

"Which is…" said Anthea with a small smile, already having a very good idea what it would be.

"Mycroft's birthday is next week."

Now grinning, Anthea nodded. "So, do you need me to sneak something into his flat again, even though something tells me you certainly wouldn't be unwelcome there?"

"Anthea!" squeaked Molly. "No, no, I just…I'm stuck! I want to do something special, _really _special, but you know how he hates a fuss about these things. Even if he weren't, I don't just want to just buy him something expensive and cold. That's so impersonal and that's the last thing I want to be!"

The P.A. listened to Molly's nervous and passionate rant with a warm heart. "Oh, Molly, you're over thinking it! Do you know how much happier Mycroft has been since you came into his life, especially since the holidays? Whenever he comes into work after he's spent time with you, he's hiding a smile and even hums to himself when he thinks I'm out of earshot."

Molly's cheeks turned pink and her heart fluttered. "Really? He _hums_?"

Anthea nodded, and squeezed Molly's arm across the table. "Seriously, Molly, don't think you have to give him the sun and the moon. He already counts himself so blessed to have you in his life when he thought he'd never have anybody! So, whatever you choose, just let it come from the heart and let it show you feel the same."

All Molly could do was nod in response with a grateful smile, for already inspiration was coming to her…


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

When Mycroft arrived at the Diogenes Club on his birthday, knowing that Molly was waiting in their private room for him, he doubted there was a happier man in London. For the first time in a very long time, he was pleased that he had a birthday to celebrate, and of course that was all thanks to Molly. Knowing her generous nature, and because she'd given him a gift last year when their friendship was still being forged, Mycroft knew that he would receive some type of gift from her. In all honesty, however, Mycroft didn't give a damn what that would be and never bothered to speculate about what it might be. All he cared about was that he would be able to spend time with her today. That alone was the greatest gift he could have.

But when Mycroft entered their private room, his breath was taken away. First, the smell of his favorite foods filled his nostrils. Second, he felt warmth from the fire crackling merrily in the grate flood soothingly around him after being out in the drizzling April air. Thirdly, his eyes beheld a table set for two, white tablecloth and dishes of the foods he could smell. Standing by the table was Molly, smiling nervously but even more warmly than the fire. She wore the deep blue cocktail dress she had worn on New Year's Eve, when they had shared their first kiss.

This powerful memory was the last catalyst that Mycroft needed. Without a word, he shut the door behind him and went to her. Cupping her face in his hands, Mycroft kissed her as sweetly as he had that night. He felt her smile as her lips responded, her hands coming up to caress his wrists, her own actions echoing that night.

When they parted, Molly's smile remained. "Happy Birthday, Mycroft," she said softly, her dark eyes glowing.

His light eyes glowed right back with a warm only she got to see. "Happy indeed, my dear," he murmured.

To his disappointment, she stepped away from him, but it disappeared at her next words. "Let's tuck in, then; I spent all day making your favorites."

* * *

Mycroft could not remember a more perfect evening in his adult life, or more perfect company. Molly had truly done a good job with his favorite foods. Initially, he'd shown some reticence in consuming such a rich meal after over a year of more healthy eating and regular exercise by running. But Molly had said everybody deserved to treat themselves on their birthdays, and Mycroft certainly did not want to let the fruits of her labor go to waste.

Their conversation was as free and easy as it had been since their friendship solidified. Every once in a while, Mycroft could not resist reaching over the table to take her hand, caress and kiss her fingers. His eyes always remained on her, his gaze adoring and happy. Molly frequently smiled and blushed in reaction, and Mycroft couldn't get enough.

As the sun went down outside, the two of them moved to the sofa for dessert. They each thoroughly enjoyed two slices of rich chocolate cake with strawberries (a great mutual favorite). Both were nearly finished, for they would be leaving soon. As her own gift, Anthea had rented out an old movie theater for one night so the two of them could privately watch a double feature of Hammer films both were incredibly fond of.

When he finished, Mycroft set his cutlery back on the table (not a crumb was left). He'd never felt so pleasantly full or satisfied. "Ready to go?" he asked Molly.

"N-not yet," she replied.

He turned abruptly to look at her upon hearing her stutter, which he knew she only did when nervous or uncomfortable. Why on earth would she be either when her efforts tonight had paid off so successfully? She got up from the sofa, wringing her hands together – another sign of nervousness. He made to go to her, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"Before we go, I…I need to give you your gift."

Her nervousness now explained, Mycroft's worry faded to be replaced with surprise. He motioned to the table of their consumed meal. "This was not –"

"Only part of it," Molly interrupted. She motioned to his armchair as she moved around and away from the sofa. "Sit down, please."

Wanting to ease her anxiety, and quite curious to see what Molly had done for him, Mycroft settled into his armchair.

Molly walked to the cabinet piano, opened it, and sat down before it. Turning her head to look at him, she bit her lip before saying, "I have you to thank for so many things, Mycroft, and I don't think that anything I could ever do could fully express my gratitude. But I wanted to try in some way, so…It's thanks to you that I took up piano again, and became better than I'd ever been before. This is something that came together in my mind slowly, it's probably an amateur creation, but…it's straight from my heart. There's no title, I…it's just my way of saying how blessed I believe I am to have you in my life."

Mycroft found he could not speak, so Molly turned back to the piano. Her fingers brushed the keys, she closed her eyes, and began to play.

In all honesty, Molly was right in saying that it was a truly amateur piece of music. It was simple, not quite a lullaby and not quite a ballad. But that did not change the effect it had on anybody who listened. This was the kind of music that you didn't remember by the melody, but by the overall effect and feeling that it brings to you. In this case, it was warm, gentle, and full of all the love that Molly couldn't yet say in words. She truly hoped that Mycroft would at least appreciate her effort if he didn't like it. And anyway, at least the meal had been a success.

Once she was finished, Molly exhaled a huge breath and rubbed her face, preparing herself to face Mycroft. When she finally did turn her head to look at him, Molly saw that he was still seated in his armchair. He was leaning forward, his elbows resting atop his knees, with his folded hands pressed against his lips. In many ways, it was the opposite of the stance Sherlock would take on when entering his Mind Palace. Perhaps this was Mycroft's version.

"Well, um…" She cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice at some kind of normal pitch. "That's that, and…well, I'll clear up the dinner things and then we can, um, head to the theatre."

She got up hastily from the instrument, nearly knocking over the piano bench in the process, and went to the table. Mycroft had still not said a word, and Molly tried desperately not to let herself panic. _At least he enjoyed the meal, at least he enjoyed the meal, at least he enjoyed th –_

But her nervous train of thought was interrupted by a pair of hands grabbing her waist and turning her around, causing the dishes she had been holding to clatter rudely to the table. She barely had a moment to glimpse the fire in Mycroft's eyes before his lips were crushing her own. She gasped, froze for just a moment, and then practically melted against him as she kissed him right back. She would have fallen to the ground if his arms hadn't wrapped securely around her.

They had never kissed like this before. Yes, they had kissed quite a few times and there would be sparks nine times out of ten, but this…these weren't sparks – this was a _bonfire_! Each could taste the chocolate and the strawberries each had just consumed, and combined with each other's natural taste, neither had ever experienced a more powerful aphrodisiac before. Before long – and Molly didn't know how and didn't really care – they ended up seated in Mycroft's comfortable armchair. Well, _he _was seated, and she was straddling his lap, their lips and tongues still dancing with each other with new abandon.

Molly felt every inch of her skin heat up to a fever pitch. Her fingers caressed the back of his neck, and then carded through his hair. Always it was impeccably combed, but her fingers were surely mussing it up now, and it seemed he didn't give a damn. His own hands caressed her back, her waist, her hips, the outsides of her thighs. As she felt a volcano beginning to churn in between her legs, she also felt something growing harder beneath his trousers. Her body felt only excitement so loud that it clouded over the nervous alarm in her mind about this new territory that they were charging into.

Eventually, Mycroft's mouth left hers to trail more gentle kisses down her jaw line and her throat, eventually stopping to bury his face in the crook of her neck. Resting her cheek against his temple, Molly took the opportunity to catch her breath, as he seemed to be doing. She could feel that both of their hearts were pounding.

"Please, Molly…" breathed Mycroft, his voice so quiet in volume but so rich in vulnerable desperation. "I'm sorry, I…I need air…"

"Oh…of course…" Molly's voice was equally breathless, and she felt her legs shake as she climbed off his lap. She didn't look at him until she had seated herself on the sofa. He was leaning back in the armchair, gripping the armrests with his eyes closed, purposefully taking deep and measured breaths. It took some willpower for her not to look at his lap, so she looked at her own folded hands in her own lap.

As his silence stretched on, Molly's worry grew. _Does he want to be alone now? Yes, he initiated that, and I thought it was…whew, wonderful…I think he did too, but…Perhaps he hadn't expected to go two steps forward and now need to take a step back. Just calm down, Molly, he'll speak when he's ready and tell you what he wants._

She was half right: when he was ready, he didn't speak right away. Instead, she saw both of his hands take hers from her lap and guide her to stand up. When their eyes met, their foreheads touched. While his cheeks were quite pink, his eyes were calm but full of adoring warmth. "Beautiful…" he said softly. "The music was beautiful, Molly. I thank you with all my heart."

Sighing in relief, Molly hugged him to her, burying her face in his chest. He held her and kissed her hair, reassuring her that everything was alright, more than alright. When they pulled back, he smiled at her. "Come. Let's watch some Kensington Gore being splashed across celluloid."

Molly laughed with joy. _Yes, they were more than alright._

* * *

Ninety percent of Mycroft's work could be done from London, so it wasn't very often that he had to travel abroad. Just as Sherlock was the last resort for crime victims and law enforcement, Mycroft was the final word of approval or denial on everything in the British Government. It was only for very serious, or potentially serious, situations that he was called to be there in person. He was called to travel to Indonesia because of some noise being made about a terrorist group, and his plane left late that evening in early June.

Molly made her way to the Diogenes Club straight from work, wanting to spend a few hours with him before he had to leave. Things had been progressing nicely since his birthday a month and a half ago. They had not become physically intimate yet, but by the nature of their recent make-out sessions on the sofa in their private room, it could only be a matter of time. Molly would be patient and not push; with the way things were going, she had no wish to complain at all.

She entered the lobby of the club expecting to greet Henry, with whom she always exchanged pleasantries before heading upstairs. However, when she entered from the early summer rain and folded her umbrella, she was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar woman talking to Henry.

"Mrs. Ebersole?"

The elderly woman and Henry turned their heads and smiled at her. "Oh, hello Molly, dear!" said Mrs. Ebersole. She pecked Molly's cheeks and looked her over. "You look wonderful!"

"Thank you, ma'am," said Molly, smiling. She hadn't seen Mrs. Ebersole or her husband since their Downton Abbey themed dinner party, and she regretted that. She had liked them from the start. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I was shopping in the area and decided to pop in and say hello to Henry. I've chatted with him many times in the past while waiting for my husband to come down and take me out."

"The best part of my day, ma'am," said Henry, smiling at them both.

"Mycroft walked in and said hello while we were talking, just ten minutes ago," said Mrs. Ebersole. "He looked just as radiant as you look now. Oh, my dear, you've been so good for him."

"Um, that's very flattering ma'am," said Molly, both embarrassed and pleased.

"It's the truth, dear girl! I've known him his whole life, and I truly have not seen him so happy since his brother died."

"Oh, well," said Molly, becoming uncomfortable as she always did when Sherlock was mentioned by someone other than Mycroft. Then the great guilt of her secret would make her heart heavy. "I know how hard Sherlock's death was on him, and I'm happy if I've done anything to ease his pain."

"Oh!" Mrs. Ebersole softly exclaimed, touching her cheek. "Yes, that truly was horrible, but I didn't mean Sherlock, dear. I meant Rinehart."

It took all of Molly's self control to keep the shock off her face, even as she felt her skin go cold. "R-Rinehart," she repeated lamely.

"Yes," said Mrs. Ebersole, shaking her head sadly. "Such a tragedy, they were barely ten years old. And his twin at that…oh, it was terrible…"

_Twin…Mycroft's twin…_Molly suddenly felt like the room was spinning a bit…but no, that was only her mind.

Mrs. Ebersole sighed and then squeezed her hand. "Well, I can only thank you, Molly. Poor Mycroft's known more tragedy than most, losing both of his brothers, but thanks to you he has some joy in his life again. Have a wonderful day, dear, and I hope to see you two soon!"

"Nice to see you too," was all Molly could say, like a robot, before Mrs. Ebersole had said goodbye to Henry and left the club.

"Are you alright, Molly?" asked Henry.

Realizing she had just been standing there in shock, Molly snapped out of it and replied, "Of course, Henry, um…I'm just going to go, uh, upstairs now."

"Have a good day, then," he practically called after her, as she nearly ran up the stairs.

Once she was inside the club itself, where silence and calm were the only rules, she forced her pace to slow even as her mind raced faster. She avoided looking at anybody, as they knew no forms of contact were welcome, so her eyes tried to remain ahead. However, her eyes couldn't help but catch a painting on the wall of Hamlet holding Yorik's skull. Her mind raced even faster.

_Shakespeare…Twelfth Night and The Comedy of Errors…his least favorite plays…oh my God, it's so clear now!_

Molly didn't hesitate to enter their private room, and found Mycroft standing by the sofa. He was looking at the book she had left there and was currently reading. He barely had time to look up at her before she shut the door and spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me about Rinehart?"

Instantly, the smile that had begun to form on Mycroft's face dropped and his face went pale. Then, he unceremoniously dropped the book on the coffee table – Molly almost jumped at the uncharacteristically careless gesture – and walked to his desk. "What reason would I have to do that?"

His ice cold tone and the words themselves felt like punches to the gut. Caught off guard in the worst way, Molly could only muster out, "B-because…because we're…well, we're…"

"What?" Mycroft asked, his eyes as cold as his tone as he turned to look at her behind his desk. This was not the man she loved – this was the Ice Man. "We're what, Molly? You're not my family, you're not my therapist, and you're not legally bound to me in any way. So why would I have confided this to you?"

Molly could feel her throat beginning to close up, so her voice got weaker as she forced her next words out. "We're friends, Mycroft. We've become g-good friends –"

Abruptly, his gaze broke from hers as he sat behind his desk. "I don't have time for this," he said, taking some papers from his briefcase meticulously, like a machine. "I have quite a bit of work to do before my flight this evening, and I would greatly prefer some privacy right now. So I would greatly appreciate it if you left my room now."

The dismissal in his icy tone was as clear as day, amplified by the fact that he'd turned his gaze and attention to his paperwork.

Tears burned Molly's eyes as she battled an overwhelming urge to scream or break down. Clutching the handle of her umbrella – such a cheap contraption compared to his own on the coat rack – in a vice grip, Molly felt that her only blessing was the fact that he was not looking at her as a tear escaped each eye. The words that escaped her lips in a broken whisper she had no say over: "As you wish." They were barely out of her mouth before she exited the room, wiping her flaming cheeks as she held back a sob with all of the strength she had left.

* * *

Though his gaze he had forced to stay on the paperwork in front of him, neither her words nor the tears in her voice as she left had escaped Mycroft's notice. And the moment he was alone, his own vision burned with tears before his face fell into his hands.


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

"_In international news, Hurricane Jonathan reached the shores of Indonesia this morning from the southwest. While it appears that the worst of the storm has exhausted itself out, strong tidal waves and storms have begun to reach the capital city of Jakarta –"_

With more force than necessary, Molly switched off the radio playing on her mobile. She then switched to Radio 4, where a rerun of _Cabin Pressure_ was playing, and resumed her task of scrubbing her kitchen floor. The radio comedy did nothing to lift her mood, but it did provide a filler for the silence.

For the past three days, Molly had avoided silence and idleness like TB and the black plague. Today, being her day off, provided a challenge in itself. So she had decided to give her flat a thorough and merciless scrubbing from top to bottom. It would keep her busy all day, and wear her to the bone. This meant that she would fall asleep once her head hit the pillow rather than cry herself to sleep – which she'd done the past three nights.

Hearing the news of the hurricane hitting Jakarta, where she knew that Mycroft was right now, put new fury into her scrubbing. It was a terrible thing to worry about the person you love the most; even more terrible to be angry with and hurt by them at the same time. Molly considered it the very opposite of fairness, and she hated it.

Since that terrible evening three days ago, Molly hadn't heard a word from him, not even through Anthea. And each hour that went by without a word convinced Molly that she had to prepare herself to lose what had become the best part of her life. To be fair, she hadn't contacted him either, but she felt like that in itself wouldn't be fair. She hadn't done anything wrong, therefore she shouldn't be the one to reach out first. Also, Mycroft had told her beforehand how sensitive and urgent this trip was, and Molly knew that no "domestic" – as Mrs. Hudson would call it – overrode preventing an international crisis.

Every aspect about this situation was horrible for Molly, but the absolute worst was this terrible state of limbo that she existed in now. Until Mycroft came home and they saw each other again, this situation wouldn't get resolved for better or for worse. And now this hurricane could only delay his returning by God only knows…

Suddenly, there came a sharp knock on her door. Surprised, Molly dropped her sponge back in the bucket, got up, and muted the radio. Looking down at herself, she winced. Cleaning for her meant wearing her rattiest t-shirt and rattiest track-suit bottoms, and her hair piled up in a messy bun on the top of her head. Unfortunately, it would have to do, since she didn't want to keep her unexpected visitor waiting.

But when Molly opened the door, she wished that she had never opened her door at all. For standing before her were two call men in full uniform, with the most solemn looks on their faces. For someone like her, that could only mean one thing…

_Don't say it…don't say it…please don't say it…_

* * *

Anthea never really liked it when Mycroft had to leave London. This meant that she had to hold down the fort in the office, and make sure that all of the domestic situations did not implode while he was away. He had trained her well, so she never worried that she would inadvertently plunge the country into civil war in his absence, but oy vey it was a hassle! To top that off, this terrible situation with Mycroft and Molly wasn't helping matters. Her boss refused to speak of it, and each time Molly tried to she ended up crying. Basically, Anthea could do nothing, not even be the middle-woman. And she hated it.

So, when a certain notification came to her mobile from her contact in Afghanistan, Anthea was already in a less than pleasant mood behind her desk in the office. But once she read the terrible notification, all thoughts of her own less-than-desirable predicament disappeared, knowing that her best friend was in one equal to hell.

_Oh, God, no…_

Without another thought or hesitation, Anthea got up from her desk and left the office, not knowing which call she dreaded to make more…

* * *

Mycroft was in a storm of a mood when he exited the conference room. The only mercy about this entire situation was that his room was in the same hotel as the meeting had been. At least he wouldn't have to face the brutal storm raging outside. Bad enough that this trip had all been a false alarm, confirmed in the last meeting, but now his return home was delayed for God knows how long.

And the longer he was trapped here, the more his hope dwindled that Molly would forgive him. Oh, he knew how badly he'd fucked up (and he felt that crude language was the only appropriate word for it), and he knew that it was up to him to at least try and fix things. But that would mean breaking all of his barriers…letting all of his defenses fall…be completely honest and open about the darkest period of his life…and pray to God that Molly would understand, forgive him, and take him back. He'd wanted to call or contact her, so many times, every minute since he'd ordered her out of their room. But this mission needed to take priority, and what he had to do could only be done face-to-face.

So all Mycroft could do now was wait…and now he knew what it felt like to be in hell.

Not until he was inside his hotel room (at least it was adequately clean and furnished) did Mycroft pull out his mobile to check for messages. Normally, he turned it off when in meetings, but today he'd only bothered to turn the ringer off. When he did unlock the device, his heart simultaneously lifted and plummeted.

One missed call from Molly – no voicemail message.

"GODDAMNIT_!_" Mycroft yelled, his fist colliding with the door with enough force to make a noticeable dent. _Damn this mission and this hurricane! She called and I missed it! She'll never hear me out now…_

But before he could call her back, his mobile vibrated and the screen lit up with Anthea's number. Cursing under his breath, Mycroft answered the call. Since she was holding down the fort for him, he couldn't refuse any call from her in case it were of urgency. "Anthea, this had better be a matter of life and death –"

"Death, sir, its…it's death."

Her usually completely calm and level voice was shaking and rich with emotion. Mycroft instantly knew that this was very serious indeed. Especially when he knew that, if this were a work-related call, her voice would be grim but still calm.

"Anthea…take a deep breath and tell me." He hoped that he sounded reassuring.

"Sir, it's…there was a bombing near Kandahar this morning…one of our bases was hit…and among the casualties…"

Mycroft didn't need to listen any further to know what happened, but as his entire body became both numb and cold with dread and sorrow, his mind and heart knew he had to say, to ask. "…David?"

"Yes…" Anthea gave a small sob. "I'm so sorry, Mycroft."

But Mycroft did not want apologies or sympathy…there was only one person who deserved them now…the person who would be in the most pain…and the person who mattered the most to him.

"Molly…Oh, God, Anthea, how is she? Where is she? Does she know?"

"She was informed less than an hour ago at her flat. I've tried calling her three times but her phone is turned off and she must have unhooked her landline."

Sickening dread filled Mycroft's chest cavity as he collapsed back into a chair that he was very conveniently in front of. "That's my fault…she called me twenty minutes ago and I couldn't…I didn't answer, I was in a meeting…and now this weather…I can't even come home…she needs me and I can't be there…"

Tears burned his vision, but unlike three days ago, this time he let them fall, though he held in the sobs that so badly wanted to come out.

Thankfully, when Anthea broke his tortured silence, her voice had become both calm and strong. "Sir, listen to me. I've packed my bag, and am on my way to her flat now. She will not be alone, sir, I promise you."

He managed a shaky sigh and he wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Thank God…and thank you, Anthea. You've no idea what that means to me."

"Sir, she's a dear friend to me. That is all the reason that I need."

He would have smiled if his heart weren't so heavy, so he could only manage the ghost of a one. His brilliant brain coming out of numbness, he spoke in a soft tone that not even the leaders of the free world dared to disregard or disobey. Thankfully, he managed to soften it for Anthea's benefit. "Then here is what we're going to do. You will stay with Molly at least until I return. Do as much work as you can from her flat, and if you have to leave, then ask Mrs. Hudson to be with her. Please see to it that she is informed immediately, as well as Detective Inspector Lestrade. They will want to support her in any way that they can."

"Right away, sir."

"As for me, I am going to put every second of every waking hour before me on getting back to England. I don't care who I have to call, what strings I have to pull, or what threats I have to make."

His voice had gone softly dangerous again as his eyes landed on the window of his hotel room, against which fierce winds and raindrops were pounding as loudly as the persistent thunder.

"I _am_ coming home to her."

* * *

When Anthea came to the door of Molly's flat, an overnight bag in her hand, she knocked on the door. Nothing. "Molly?" she called. Pressing her ear to the door, Anthea heard no movement, no response. Without hesitation, Anthea picked the lock and went inside.

The scent of bleach hung in the air, and Anthea saw cleaning supplies scattered around the flat as well as covered furniture that had been moved. Clearly, Molly had been in the middle of giving her flat a scrubbing, and the horrible news she had received had stopped her in her tracks. But then Anthea's trained eyes caught sight of something truly heartbreaking in a corner of her living room.

A shattered mobile phone.

_She hadn't turned her phone off when she'd tried to call Mycroft after receiving the news…her grief and heartbreak were too powerful for that…_

Anthea covered her mouth in a choked sob, tears escaping her eyes as what must have been Molly's anguished cry at the time echoed through her.

But in the next moment, Anthea took a deep breath and wiped her cheeks with her free hand. Quietly, she walked through the living room towards the only shut door in the flat – which meant that Molly must be in there. Knowing she wouldn't get a response if she knocked, Anthea opened the door.

The bedroom was dark, and the curtains were drawn. On the queen-sized bed lay Molly in a fetal position, her back to the door. Anthea saw by her breathing pattern that she was neither sleeping nor sobbing; in fact she made no sound at all. At once, something her father had said to her long ago when her mother had suffered a miscarriage came into her mind:

_Some grief goes deeper than tears can cleanse._

Blinking back her own again, knowing that she must be the strong one now more than ever for the two people she cared for most in the world, Anthea went to the heartbroken Molly.

* * *

**A/N: **_I know you want to kill me right now, and believe me, I don't blame you. It broke my heart to do this, but sometimes you have to break hearts to tell the story in the best way. Stay tuned, I promise the next chapter is on its way._


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

Around ten o'clock the next morning, Anthea found herself sitting at Molly's kitchen table, looking over some paperwork when her mobile rang. She answered immediately, knowing it would be her boss. "Hello, sir," she said, her voice quite glum.

"How is she?" he asked, equally glum and just as exhausted. "Will she let me speak to her?"

Anthea sighed miserably, rubbing her forehead as she recalled the previous night, when Mycroft had last called and asked to speak with her, and what Molly's monotone and cold response had been:

_"The last time I saw him, he made it clear that he saw no reason to confide in me, so he's smart enough to understand why I don't feel the need to confide in him right now."_

Coming back to the present, she said, "Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson are with her right now, but even if they weren't, I know her answer will be the same, sir." She'd never heard a more sad sigh in her life. "No luck with flights, then?"

"No. Nothing is allowed to leave now, not with all of the flooding and storm damage. Last I checked, I won't be able to get out of here for at least a week."

Anthea didn't hold back a groan. "Just let me know if there is anything I can do on this side of the world to help you."

"Believe me, Anthea, you are doing more than I could ask for by staying with her. And please tell Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade how grateful I am, as well."

"I certainly shall. They were reasonably shocked to hear from me, but once I had told them…what happened…their only concern became Molly. Right now Mrs. Hudson is making sure she eats more than a few mouthfuls of a late breakfast, and Lestrade is telling her some of the most amusing stories of Sherlock at the Yard; Mrs. Hudson is contributing stories of her own now."

"Very good. If my little brother is good for anything at his best, it is a good laugh."

"Absolutely. And thankfully, they are both able and more than willing to attend the memorial service…" She let out a shaky exhale.

"I'm truly sorry, Anthea, but that meeting in Parliament can't afford to be missed. She will understand, if not now then certainly later."

Anthea sighed. "I suppose. I've already told her and apologized and she just…shrugged it off…"

Mycroft picked up on her voice trailing off. "What is bothering you, Anthea?"

"It's just…she hasn't even shed one tear yet. Most of the time, she is in this numb state, and the only time she lets herself feel anything is to lash out then shut down even more."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Mycroft spoke again.

"As long as she can numb herself to the world, she will; as long as she can feel angry, she won't have to face her heartbreak. But it will happen, Anthea; a dam can only block a torrential flood for so long. It's only a matter of time, Anthea, so please…just keep being there for her, you and the others, while I try and come home to her."

"Of course, Mycroft…I just hate feeling so…useless. Like there must be something more I can do to help her."

"Believe me, Anthea, just being there for her is more than enough, even if it doesn't feel like it now."

Before Anthea could think of a reply, an even better idea entered her mind. "Then perhaps we need to make sure that everybody who _can _and _should _be there for her…_is._"

There was a pause before Mycroft responded, clearly understanding what she meant. "Absolutely. So let's make sure that happens."

And with that, a plan was formed.

* * *

Dr. John Watson was finishing up writing his notes on the last patient who had come into his office that afternoon when a soft and familiar knock sounded on his office door. He looked up and smiled at his nurse – and official girlfriend of the past few weeks – Mary Morstan, who smiled back.

"Got a new patient here, a Miss Athena House, just says she's suffering exhaustion and chest pains."

Glad of a new challenge, John nodded. "Send her in, please."

Mary returned his smile and disappeared from the doorway. Still smiling to himself, John turned back to his notes. He quickly finished writing up and putting the file away as he heard Mary escort his new patient into his office. Once he heard the door shut, he turned around in his chair to face her.

"Good afternoon, Miss House, what seems to b –"

But all words left John Watson when he saw who was sitting in his patients' chair, because it was someone he never expected or wanted to see again. Athena turned out to be Anthea (or whatever the hell her real name was). John's grip on his pencil immediately became iron-tight. "What the hell are you doing here?" he practically growled.

"I'm here to talk and you're going to listen," was the reply. Both her voice and her gaze were cool, calm, and an iron command. It was her gaze more than anything that stopped John from saying anything to that. In the few times he had encountered Mycroft's PA, her attention had always been on the mobile or blackberry she had been fiddling with, a calm and amused half-smirk on her lips. Today, however, all traces of a device and a smirk were gone, and all of the PA's attention was squarely on him. Caught off-guard, John said nothing.

"You won't believe me, I'm sure, but I'm pleased that your life has improved somewhat in the past year and a half. You've built your own private practice, which is doing well, and you've found a good companion and lover in your highly-skilled nurse."

John slammed his pencil back down onto his desk, his expression now murderous. "Alright, what the fuck is this? Why are you here?"

"Sherlock's other friends haven't been as lucky as you," Anthea said, ice in her gaze and tone.

Now John really shut up.

"Though Lestrade managed to keep his title and badge by the skin of his teeth, his wife divorced him for good, took the kids and moved to Yorkshire. He sees them as much as he can, which with his job, unfortunately means not nearly as much as he would like to. Mrs. Hudson cannot bring herself to rent out 221B, so she lives in her building alone. She still has a sister she keeps in contact with, but that's hardly enough, is it? Thank goodness Molly Hooper visits her at least once a week, takes her out or helps her out, whatever she needs."

Now John really couldn't speak. He didn't need to be told how he'd pushed his friends away after Sherlock's suicide – how he'd pushed anything that reminded him of the man away – but he'd gotten better at pushing that guilt away, especially since he met Mary and she'd become the center of his life.

Anthea continued, leaning forward a bit, clearly coming to the point. "And Molly Hooper. You remember her, right? She's been dealt the most unfair and cruel hand of all. Has she ever told you about her younger brother, David?"

Suddenly feeling nervous as well as guilty, John said, "Um…yes, she did. Told me that he's a lieutenant and a, um, an interpreter, right?"

Anthea's gaze saddened considerably. "He was killed in action yesterday morning."

The force of this news hit John so hard that he practically collapsed back against the back of his chair. "Oh, Jesus…" He rubbed his hand over his face.

Anthea pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it out to John. "The memorial service is in two days. Here is the time and the place. Both Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade will be there for her. Unfortunately, my boss is detained abroad and I must attend a meeting that evening in his stead. And, believe it or not, if Sherlock were here, he would go, too. Perhaps he wouldn't have made his presence known, or have stayed longer than a few minutes, but he would have gone and Molly would have known it and have been grateful. After everything she's done for Sherlock, and how she's respected your wishes to stay away from you though you know she didn't deserve that, the least you could do is be there for her – as a fellow soldier and as the friend that she deserves."

Slowly, John reached out and took the folded paper. Once he did, Anthea got up and walked to the door. When she opened it, John stopped her by saying, "Wait…why are _you _the one telling me about this? Since when do you or your boss care about Molly?"

While her face remained calm, her eyes blazed with fire. "You weren't the only one to suffer a loss when it happened, Dr. Watson. So did Molly, and so did my boss. He saw beyond his own grief and saw hers, and they found each other. Because of that, I've gained the best friend I've ever had. I know you know how that feels. And don't worry: this request isn't a threat in any way, from me or my boss. Quite frankly, I know that we don't need to do that. You're a good man, after all, with a strong conscience. I hope you make the right decision."

And with that, Anthea left, shutting the door behind her.

Less than a minute later, Mary opened the office door and went in, looking more than a little curious. When she saw John, turning over and over a folded piece of paper in his hands, her curiosity mixed with worry. "What was all that about?"

Slowly, John lifted his head and looked at his girlfriend. "I'm an arse."

* * *

Anthea arranged for a government car to take Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade to the memorial service, which was being held at a small but nice (if such a place could be called nice) funeral home. In his will, alongside with leaving everything to his sister, he had outlined his wishes should his position in the army lead to his death. Since he and Molly had not grown up in a big family or with any strong religious faith, he had wanted very little fuss, so that is what would happen now.

As the car came to a stop just outside of the funeral home, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade both turned their heads to look at Molly, who was seated between them. She wore the same black dress that she had worn to Sherlock's funeral, and looked just as somber as she had looked that day. But this time, she seemed much more rigid in what they could only interpret as fear.

Mrs. Hudson took her hand. "We won't go in until you're ready, dear."

Molly let out a brief, hollow chuckle. "Ready? How…could I ever be ready…for this?"

Lestrade pressed a gentle kiss to her head. "You won't be alone, Molly. We're right here for you."

She nodded, clenching her small clutch very tightly.

At that moment, a taxi cab pulled up just in front of them. All three of them couldn't help but be a little surprised. The memorial didn't officially start for fifteen minutes; as David's only family, Molly knew she must come early. So who was this?

"Now it doesn't matter how ready I am," she said, seeming to steel herself. "Someone's here."

So the three of them got out of the car, one by one. Once they were all out, and they saw who had just come out of the taxi, all three of their jaws dropped.

It was Dr. John Watson, whom none of them had seen in person for over a year-and-a-half. He was dressed in a black suit and tie, and when he saw them, he walked to the group as if he were walking to his execution.

"Um…evening…everyone," he said, the epitome of awkward.

Before Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson could speak through their shock, it was Molly who spoke: "Why are you here?" She didn't sound accusatory or angry, just surprised and curious. Which made it almost worse.

John took a deep breath and faced Molly, a look of pure remorse on his face. "First, to pay my respects to a fallen comrade and to give you my deepest condolences. Secondly…to apologize to you, each of you, for being so selfish in my grief. After he…fell…I was just…so angry and…I didn't want to be around anything that would remind me of him…I can't say that, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't have reacted any differently at first…but I know now that I should never have let it gone on this long."

Mrs. Hudson, who had begun to cry, hugged him without a word. John returned it, looking over her shoulder at Lestrade; they exchanged an understanding nod.

When Mrs. Hudson let him go, John turned back to Molly. There was more emotion on her face than she'd let herself show since she'd heard the news. She did not cry, but she took John's hand in both of hers and softly said, "Thank you for coming."

John kissed her cheek, and then linked her arm with his. "Shall we go in?" he asked.

Molly nodded, clinging to his arm for dear life; Lestrade took Mrs. Hudson's arm in turn. With that, the four people entered the funeral home.

* * *

Four thousand miles away, a white-haired couple sat side-by-side in an airport in the American Midwest. A flight attendant announced that the boarding process would begin in ten-minutes time, and the couple sighed and smiled at each other.

"Another trip come and gone, dearest," said Albert with a wistful smile.

"But a good one!" said Rowena brightly. "Who knew that the state of Wisconsin had so much to offer! We must thank Mildred for the tip; if her daughter hadn't moved there, we never would have known!"

At that moment, her mobile phone rang. She pulled it out of the front pocket of her purse, and smiled when she saw who was calling. "It's Myc, how nice!" she said. She answered the call and put the call on speakerphone; their flight wasn't crowded and they sat a good distance away from the other passengers. "Hello, dear!"

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" asked Albert, smiling himself.

"Mummy…Papa…"

Right away, the smiles disappeared from both faces and they exchanged a glance of alarm and fear. They had not heard Mycroft use this tone of voice since he had been a child, shaken and frightened by a bad dream. This was very serious, indeed.

Putting a comforting arm around his wife, Albert spoke. "We're right here, son. What's happened?"

"I need your help…I must ask you…it's Molly…"

Pressing a hand to her heart, Rowena spoke, "Anything, dear, just please, tell us everything you need to tell us."

So he did.

* * *

**A/N: **_Wanted to somehow bring John back into the fold; he's been out of the picture for too long, and Molly will need all of the support she can get. Please be patient guys; I promise that a lot will be cleared up in the next chapter, and our two lovers will not be separated for much longer. _


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

The morning after the memorial service, Anthea gently shook Molly awake. The bereaved pathologist groaned and tried to bury her face in the pillow, but Anthea shook her shoulder with gentle insistence. Molly finally gave up and opened an eye. "What?" she rasped groggily.

"Get up," said Anthea, standing back up and pulling an overnight bag out of Molly's closet. "You've been invited to go on a trip."

"What?" asked Molly, confused as well as drowsy, raising herself up on her elbow and rubbing her eyes. "A trip?"

"Albert and Rowena arrived home from their most recent vacation yesterday. Otherwise, they would have come to the service. They want to make it up to you by inviting you to stay with them for the weekend." She turned her head to look at Molly, her gaze firm but gentle. "Just so you know, if you refuse, they would really like to come up and visit. Either way, they really want to see you and be there for you."

As Anthea turned back to packing her overnight bag, Molly slowly put together the words Anthea had told her in her still-sleepy and grieving mind. When that task was done, Molly made no objection. Even though she and Mycroft were…not, the thought of seeing his parents was, quite frankly, very welcoming, especially the idea of visiting their lovely cottage again. She hadn't left her flat since she'd gotten the news except to go to the memorial service.

So she got out of bed, grabbed a change of clothes, and headed for her bathroom. She didn't react to Anthea's gentle hand on her shoulder as she passed her, but she appreciated it.

* * *

A government car drove her out to Surrey; Anthea, who had to stay in London, had parted from her with a gentle hug. Molly made no attempt to chat with the driver, read a book, listen to music, or occupy herself at all during the drive. Instead, she leaned back against her headrest and kept her gaze on her window, letting the passing buildings and trees blur into one long strip as her mind numbed to thought. It was a skill she seemed to have acquired in the last few days, and she couldn't be more grateful for it…sometimes it felt like it was the only thing that kept her breathing…

Though the car came to a gentle stop when it reached its destination, Molly still jumped a bit. Shaking herself, she grabbed her overnight bag from the seat beside her, and got out when the driver had opened the door for her. She barely managed a 'thank you' before walking up the front path to the front door.

And she had barely knocked on the door before it opened to reveal Albert Holmes. The look on his face was composed of pure compassion, and Molly had never been more thankful that he knew no words were needed. Instead, he pressed her cheek and took her overnight bag from her grasp. Grateful, Molly stepped over the threshold and Albert shut the door behind her.

As he escorted her across the front hall, Rowena emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron and an expression with just as much emotion as Albert. Also mercifully wordlessly, the older woman came to Molly and opened her arms, into which Molly practically collapsed.

In the warm embrace of a mother, with a father gently stroking her hair, it was the closest Molly had come to crying since those two officers had come to her door. But she still couldn't seem to bring herself to let go…there was still a blockage there…so she let herself savor the comfort and compassion she was being offered.

* * *

Since she had arrived just in time for lunch, the three of them soon after sat down to a good but quiet meal, which passed by almost quickly. After it was over, Rowena and Albert led her into their cozy sitting room; Molly couldn't help but notice that they had taken on the behavior of two people going into battle.

When they entered the room, Molly's curiosity was heightened by the fact that they led her to the sofa as opposed to a chair, and the fact that they each sat themselves beside her told Molly that something important was about to happen.

Albert took her right hand in both of his. "Molly…words cannot express our condolences about your loss…believe us when we say we know how excruciating this pain in, and we are here fore you. If we had been in England, we would have been to the memorial service; I hope you know that."

"Don't worry, I do," said Molly, squeezing his hand. "I was never angry, and I understand."

Albert nodded, and took a deep breath. "It was Mycroft who called us with the tragic news…he also told us everything that happened before he left for Indonesia."

_Mycroft…_just hearing his name again caused Molly's heart to pound painfully. The sentence in which he heard his name caused to make her feel both hot and cold all over, if that were possible. Remembering the last time she had seen him made her remember the anger and the hurt all over again…but then she remembered what it had been about. Looking at Albert and Rowena now, and their own worlds of grief in their eyes, Molly suddenly felt her anger collapse into itself. All she could say in response was a small "oh."

Rowena now spoke, and it seemed she was making an effort to keep her voice steady. "You need to know some things, Molly. I'm sorry that it can't be Mycroft, but this conversation is not one of those that can happen through an electronic device, and you must know about this sooner rather than later."

"It is time, Molly, that you know about our third son," said Albert, quietly and resolutely.

Rowena then reached over to the coffee table and picked up a large, old, leather-bound photo album that Molly hadn't noticed before. The older woman placed it gingerly on Molly's lap, so she could see and read the embossed letters in golden calligraphy on the cover. At the top, in a large font, were the words: _Our Children. _Below, in smaller print, was a set of three names:

_Christopher Mycroft Mark Holmes_

_Timothy Rinehart Ross Holmes_

_William Sherlock Scott Holmes_

"Wow…" Molly murmured.

Albert chuckled. "A tradition in my family going back many years. My own first middle name is Halcyon, but I've always gone by my first name since Halcyon was a bit of a mouthful as a child."

"And Albert suits you much better, anyhow," said Rowena fondly. She then turned her gaze back to Molly. "Go on, dear, open it."

So Molly did. The first image she found extracted the biggest "aww!" from the depths of her soul. It was a large, black-and-white photograph of two identical babies lying atop a cot, both wide awake and caught mid-squirm. Each wore a light onesie embroidered with initials: _CM _and _TR._

"I know! Have you ever seen anything more adorable than those perfect baby cheeks? Though Sherlock's curls gave them a run for our money."

As the three of them slowly flipped through the pages, Molly saw the evolution of the twins: adorable babies, cherubic toddlers, to strapping boys with ginger hair – always smiling, always identical.

"They rarely squabbled," said Rowena wistfully. "Even during the 'terrible twos,' they never took out their frustrations by antagonizing each other. They always understood each other on such a deep level. I don't know if that's true of all twins, but it was true with them."

"And when they did have disagreements," continued Albert, "they always managed to work it out between them without resorting to tantrums or blows."

Molly opened her mouth, but then closed it again. Rowena noticed and squeezed her free hand.

"It's alright, my dear. Ask anything you want, anything you want to know. That would actually help us."

Relieved, Molly spoke. "Were they very alike, or were they more…yin and yang?"

Both Rowena and Albert took a moment to think about it. "I suppose…both," Albert finally said, deep in thought. "They had different favorites and dislikes; after all, they weren't clones of each other. However, both were introverts, naturally quiet and sometimes shy, and both so smart. They soaked up any information or lesson they came across; both could read before they turned three."

"Wow," said Molly bluntly.

"They loved to learn, the both of them," said Rowena fondly. "Wanted to soak up everything they could learn like a sponge, and as fast as they could."

Molly nodded. "How old were they when Sherlock was born?"

"Seven years old," Rowena said. "He was our surprise baby. After having our wonderful twins, and no more kids followed in the few years right after, we thought that would be our lot. But Sherlock wanted to be here, so he came."

"Sounds like him," said Molly, with the ghost of a smile. "So…how did the twins like being big brothers?"

"Well, when we first told them I was expecting, I saw that they were reticent," said Rowena. "Since they had each other, they thought that another sibling would only be a nuisance. But I must say…" A wistful smile appeared on her face as they came to a picture of all five of them in the hospital, just after Sherlock had been born. "The moment that they met their baby brother, they adored him."

"And he adored them," said Albert. "He looked up to them, always smiled when either came into a room. The moment he could crawl, then walk, he would be either looking for them or following them around."

"I must say, there were times when I was almost jealous!" laughed Rowena.

"Sometimes the boys would be annoyed, as all big brothers would be, but most of the time they loved it. They couldn't wait to teach him everything they were learning, and Sherlock wanted to learn just as much as they did," said Albert.

They had come to the last page of the album, on which was a picture of the three boys. They sat side-by-side on the sofa that Molly and the Holmes couple were seated now. The twins looked about ten, and Sherlock about three. A big storybook was open on his lap, and all three had big grins on their faces. No images could have been more different than the two Holmes men she had come to know and care for.

"This is when Sherlock read a story all by himself for the first time," said Rowena, her fingers touching the photograph. "We all had a hand in it, but it was really the twins who taught him. He had just turned three." Her lips then began to tremble, and she closed the album. "That's the last picture of all three of them together."

Albert, seeing that his wife was too overcome with emotion to speak at present, held onto Molly's hand and spoke as steadily as he could. "The next month…February…a strain of pneumonia spread through the village. Both Sherlock and Rinehart caught it…but only Sherlock pulled through…"

Molly didn't say anything. What on Earth could she say? The pain was so strong in their memories that she felt it like the air around her. So she lifted each of their hands and kissed them gently.

Albert was the first to be able to speak, his voice deep and hoarse. "It was a terrible time for all of us…but Mycroft took it the hardest, as you can imagine. He shut himself away…in his room, away from everybody, for months…then he got a full scholarship to Harrow, and from then on he made his life about academic and professional success…doing everything he can to protect himself from being hurt again."

_And unfortunately, you can only get hurt when you care, _thought Molly sadly. _And so the Iceman was born…_

After putting the album back on the coffee table, Rowena turned fully on the sofa to face Molly, holding onto her hand as if for dear life. "Molly, dear, ever since we lost Rinehart, Mycroft has never spoken of it to anyone, not even us. It is the one subject that is most sensitive to him, and the cause of his deepest pain. I know he would have told you in time…he just didn't know how yet. In no way am I defending how he behaved; he's smart enough to have known better than to lash out at you like that. But you need to understand what happened, and why he did what he did."

"Believe me, my dear," said Albert. "He deeply regrets what he's done, and not only because of what happened since he's left. He knows the pain that you are going through, and is doing everything he can to come home to you."

Molly had just taken in a lot of information. She could feel that she would need time to digest it all, let everything sink in…but the most important thing already had, as indicated by the word she spoke in a tiny vulnerable voice:

"Promise?"

Albert let a relieved smile appear on his face. "Promise."

With that, Molly closed her eyes, and her first tears finally escaped from her. Wordlessly, Albert pulled her to his side and wrapped his arm around her shoulders; Rowena rubbed her back and kissed her hair.

She didn't let herself sob – she wasn't ready to do that yet – but those first tears were a step in the right direction.

* * *

The next two days Molly spent in relative silence, and neither Albert or Rowena pressed her to talk, which she was very grateful for. They did keep her busy, though, which is exactly what Molly wanted. She helped Albert tend his beloved garden behind the cottage; she baked bread and sweets with Rowena in the kitchen; they watched old episodes of Agatha Christie mysteries; they took her on long walks and showed her the village where they had raised their boys.

This time, Molly slept in Mycroft's room rather than Sherlock's. As she processed everything she had learned, she allowed herself to truly miss the man she loved now that understanding had replaced her anger. The room itself, which was still very much a child's room but with an adult bed, was filled with mementos of a shared childhood: photographs, favorite books, painted pictures, and beloved toys. Now Molly understood why Mycroft hadn't shown her his room at Christmas. She understood a lot of things now.

When Sunday afternoon came, Molly knew in her heart that it was time for her to go back to London. The weekend was over, and it had done her more good than she could imagine. She was so thankful to both Albert and Rowena for all that they had done, but the weekend could only last so long. She parted from them with long embraces, comforting kisses, and promises to keep in touch and let them know if she ever needed anything.

Another government car drove her back to the city, but as soon as they were on familiar streets, Molly made an impulsive request to the driver. He obliged without an objection. Fifteen minutes later, the car came to a stop right outside, not her flat, but the Diogenes Club.

After thanking the driver, Molly got out and steadily walked inside the now familiar building. There was Henry behind the reception desk, ever the same and just as comforting. When he spotted her, he stood up and looked at her with pleasure and affection. "We've missed you around here, Molly. Glad you're back."

Molly nodded, knowing that it had been ten days since she'd been here. Ten days since she'd seen Mycroft, ten days since that terrible encounter. "It's good to see you again, Henry."

He reached over the desk and took her hand. "Anthea told me...you have my deepest sympathies, dear girl."

Molly swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. "Thank you…I don't know how long I'll be staying, so please don't worry about me in the meanwhile, ok?"

He nodded, and patted her hand before releasing it. With a weak smile, Molly departed from him and walked up the stairs, through the common room, to the right door and opened it with her skeleton key.

Once she had shut herself inside the familiar and beloved room, Molly didn't feel what she thought she would feel. When she had followed her instinct to come here instead of her empty flat, it had been because she had wanted to feel closer to Mycroft, to not feel alone. But now that she was here…his absence felt more powerful than ever. The air suddenly seemed to disappear from her lungs, and bringing any more into them was beginning to prove very difficult. Clutching her chest, Molly managed to collapsed into Mycroft's comfortable chair. She put her head between her knees and put all of her efforts into calming her breathing.

She didn't know how long she stayed like that, but it certainly felt like a long time. When she finally felt herself breathing slowly and normally again, Molly slowly raised her head. The first thing that her eyes landed on was a book lying on the coffee table. It was a book of Shakespeare's comedies – the most recent volume that she and Mycroft had been reading aloud to each other, the one that he had been holding and dropped to the table the last time she had seen him and unintentionally touched his deepest wound.

What caught her eye, though, was a folded piece of paper laying atop the volume that had certainly not been there before. Mycroft must have put it there just after that horrible encounter…right before he left…to be there for her when she felt ready to return…

With wobbly legs, Molly got up and walked to the coffee table. With shaking hands, Molly picked up the folded note. With trembling fingers, Molly unfolded it and saw a single line written in Mycroft's hand. She instantly recognized a quote from _As You Like It_:

"_The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool._"

She'd barely read it when hot tears blurred her vision, the familiar and beloved quote a clear apology and plea of forgiveness.

Closing her eyes, her second set of tears escaping down her cheeks, Molly softly pleaded to the room: "Please come back…I need you…please come home…"

"As you wish."

The strongest and most violent gasp tore from her throat as her eyes flew opened and the note fell from her fingers. She turned so fast she nearly fell over, but she landed on her own two feet. She blinked once, hard, fearful that she was going mad. But she wasn't. Her eyes and ears had not deceived her.

There stood Mycroft by the door he had just closed, and he looked like a complete wreck. Clearly he hadn't gotten much sleep in the past ten days, judging from his pale pallor and the dark circles beneath his eyes. He hadn't shaven in over a week, as the beginnings of a fine ginger beard was evident on his face. His suit looked haphazardly thrown on and quite wrinkled as well, and his shoes were nowhere near shiny. But all Molly really cared about were his eyes and what she saw in them:

Endless apologies, pleas for forgiveness, compassionate empathy, and deep love.

As the first sobs finally tore from her body, he seemed to cross the room at superhuman speed. And once his arms were securely around her, Molly finally let herself give into her heartbroken keening over David, over Rinehart, over all that had happened. Burying her face against his chest, she clung to him with everything she had, not about to let him go ever again. His face pressed against her neck, Molly felt his own hot tears and felt his own body shake with sobs. Neither noticed when their legs gave out and now knelt on the carpeted floor; they still held each other, and that was all that mattered.

Now they could truly grieve, and from there truly heal, because now they were truly home where their hearts were.

* * *

**A/N: **_I hope you guys can breathe a little easier now. This story is almost over with a few chapters left to write, so keep an eye out. _


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen**

Falling into catharsis by succumbing completely to grief is like a computer going into sleep mode; being with the person you love the most in the world gives the added feeling of being wrapped in your favorite blanket. In years to come, neither Molly nor Mycroft would be able to say for just how long the two of them stayed like that, crying together in each other's arms on the floor of their private room in the Diogenes Club. Quite frankly, neither really cared. All that mattered to them was that they were together again, home and safe.

When they entered reality again, it felt like coming up for air after being underwater. In silent consensus, Mycroft raised the both of them carefully on their feet again, and guided them over to the sofa; Molly kept herself and her grip around him close. When he had lowered them onto the comfortable cushions, he cradled her protectively in his lap. Caressing her cheek and gazing into her bloodshot eyes, Mycroft said what he'd been desperately wanting to say the moment she'd fled this room in tears ten days ago:

"I am so…desperately…sorry, Molly. Can you ever forgive me?"

Molly took the hand caressing her cheek and kissed it. "Of course I can. I understand what happened now, and how much pain you were carrying." She sniffed. "I can relate now…and I'm just so glad you don't want me out of your life."

Knowing that this was how he'd made her feel when he'd lashed out so stupidly, a fierce remorse which led to bravery filled his entire being. Cupping her face in his hands and looking her straight in the eye, Mycroft said firmly and tenderly:

"_I do love nothing in the world so well as you._" He smiled almost timidly, his eyes bright. "_Is that not strange?_"

Instantly, Molly recognized the quote from her favorite Shakespeare comedy, _Much Ado About Nothing_: Benedick's declaration of love for Beatrice. It took no effort or convincing herself to respond with Beatrice's own profession:

"_I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest._"

The words had barely left her mouth before Mycroft was crushing her lips with his, and Molly responded with equal force. They kissed desperately with all of the emotions they held for each other. When they finally parted for breath, their foreheads rested against each other.

"Anything, Molly," Mycroft breathed, his hands still caressing her cheeks. "Whatever you need, whatever you want, however I can help you, I'll do it. Just say the word, and I will do it."

Molly took a deep, shuddering breath, really thinking about what she needed after all that had happened. When she had her answer, she opened her eyes and looked into his. "I need…to escape…for a little while. I'm not ready to go back to my empty flat or my job surrounded by death yet…but most of all, I just want to be with you…I've really missed you, My."

It was the first time that she had called him that, or given him any nickname or endearment beyond the occasional tease of "Secret Agent Man." And given the fact that it made sense on a deeper level – he was indeed hers – this unintentional but true double-meaning in this two-letter word and title warmed Mycroft to the core. He kissed her again, tenderly this time.

"Every minute away from you was an agony, from the moment I let you walk out of this room without apologizing and explaining myself," he said when he finally lifted his lips from hers. He paused for a moment, and then said, "There are still two months of summer left…I know of a lovely spot on the west coast of France, near Biarritz…"

Molly's eyes widened a little, and she expressed no hesitation. "Oh, that sounds lovely, can we? Are you sure that's alright? I'm sure Mike won't object, I'm sure I have enough unused vacation time, but what about you?"

He reassuringly kissed her forehead. "As you have often told me, England will not become Atlantis if I remember that I am a human being. You are my first priority, my love, and I have a lot to make up for."

New tears fell from her eyes, and Molly gave him her own tender kiss. "Thank you," she breathed, and he rested her head on his chest.

Kissing her forehead, he said, "Don't worry, I will take care of everything," as he pulled his mobile from his jacket pocket.

And indeed he did.

* * *

When Molly woke up the next morning, she instinctively buried her face into her pillow with a groan. It was definitely too bright outside, her instincts were telling her, and Molly did not want the best night of sleep she'd had since tragedy had struck to end. But each second that passed only pulled her towards reality instead of dreams, so she eventually gathered strength enough to stretch, rub her eyes, and sit up.

Once her vision had cleared of sleep, Molly found herself in a small, sunlit bedroom in a large and comfortable bed. She found that she was on its right side, the side she always slept on. But when her eyes fell on the left side of the bed, she saw that the sheets were rumpled and the pillow had the imprint of a head.

Closing her eyes again, Molly tried to piece together the events of the previous evening. She had been more than happy to let Mycroft take control in making all of the arrangements for their little getaway. His phone conversations, the private jet taking them from England to France, the car rides before and after…it all formed a blur in her mind. All she had cared about was that she was with Mycroft again, and that he loved her as much as she loved him. Certain moments did come back to her: Henry's compassionate goodbye to them both before they left the club…Mycroft telephoning his parents to reassure them what had happened and was happening…Anthea hugging her goodbye before boarding the jet…Mycroft kissing her head when she rested it against his shoulder during the flight.

Molly couldn't remember speaking a word until she and Mycroft had arrived at their destination after twilight had faded, and this memory flooded back into her mind…

* * *

_After Mycroft had paid the French cab driver, he got out and then helped Molly out. When her eyes fell on the small and very charming little cottage that the cab had stopped in front of, she gave a soft sigh. "Oh, My…it's lovely."_

_ He kissed her temple before retrieving their bags from the trunk of the cab. He then led the way up the front path as the cab drove away. "Could you open the door, my dear?" he asked softly. "The key is under the doormat."_

_ Molly nodded, retrieved the key, and opened the front door, which was painted red. They went inside and stopped in the dark front hall. In the moonlight pouring in from a window, Molly took a good look at her love's face and frame. Caressing his unshaven cheek, Molly murmured, "When was the last time you slept, My?"_

_ He gave a half shrug, too exhausted to even manage a full one. "I've been so driven to get home to you…I honestly can't recall…"_

_ She kissed him softly, and ran her free hand through his disheveled hair. "We both need a long and deep sleep. Everything else can wait for a while."_

_ He nodded, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Yes…I think I'll be able to sleep now…"_

_ "Me too," said Molly._

_ With that, he had led her through a sitting room to a small hallway that led to three rooms: two bedrooms and a bathroom. Handing Molly her bag, Mycroft said, "Take your pick of a room, it doesn't matter to me."_

_ Molly's heart suddenly felt as heavy as lead. _Don't be silly, Molly, _she reprimanded internally. _He'll be just across the hall, and you'll see him again when you wake up. Neither of you are going anywhere, so don't be a baby!

_ So she blinked forcefully, swallowed, and nodded her head. "I'll take this one, then," she said, her voice a touch hoarse, her head indicating the room behind her (she hadn't even looked inside it)._

_ Mycroft nodded, and then lingeringly kissed her forehead. "Sleep soundly, my love," he whispered._

_ Fighting the urge to cry, Molly nodded and then disappeared into the room so she wouldn't lose control. As quickly as she could, she changed into the flannel bottoms and tank top Anthea had packed for her pajamas, crawled into the unfamiliar bed, and closed her eyes. Thankfully, sleep claimed her quickly…_

_ …Unfortunately, it hadn't lasted long. Her mind was soon flooded with a nightmare that consisted of running lost in an empty London, the cries of her brother coming from everywhere in the distance, and not being able to find Mycroft anywhere. Molly woke up sobbing like her chest would break, but she bit into her pillow to silence herself when she remembered that Mycroft was just across the hall._

Mycroft was just across the hall…

_As if her body had a mind of its own, Molly rose from the bed, left the bedroom, and tiptoed the tiny distance across the hall to Mycroft's closed bedroom door. As quietly as she could, Molly turned the doorknob and opened it until she could see him. He was fast asleep in the bed, and Molly breathed a little easier._

_ But then, as if he could sense her presence, his eyes opened and when their vision focused, immediately widened with concern. "Molly?"_

_ Molly instantly felt horrible, embarrassed and caught. She hadn't wanted to wake him, Lord knows he needed a good night's rest. She'd just wanted a glimpse of him, a reassurance that her nightmare had been only that, that the last twelve hours hadn't been a wistful and desperate dream. She suddenly wanted to run away, but her feet felt weighed to the floor._

_ Then, Mycroft granted the desire she'd been too nervous to think of: he wordlessly turned down the sheets on the empty side of the bed, his eyes full of love. Relieved tears falling from her eyes, Molly immediately rushed into the bed and his open embrace. She curled against his chest as she cried, and he kissed her head in between soothing words of reassurance and love, until they both fell into safe and dreamless sleep…_

* * *

Opening her eyes as she came back to reality, Molly thought her heart might burst with the love she felt for Mycroft after everything he'd done for her in the past eighteen hours. Needing to find him, Molly rose from the bed and stretched. She found her light blue dressing gown hanging on a hook nailed to the door – Anthea must have packed that, too, and Mycroft had left it out for her – and put it on. She made a detour to the bathroom and, finding it empty, also found that her toiletries had been neatly laid out beside his own. The sight warmed her heart like nothing else had before.

After going through her morning rituals, Molly left the bathroom and walked into the sitting room from the small hallway. She was immediately struck by the smell of roasting coffee coming from the kitchen, which was just down the front hall. With new energy, Molly went along the front hall and quietly entered the kitchen.

Mycroft was standing at the counter, pouring the newly-finished coffee into two mugs, and wearing a flannel dressing gown over his own pajamas (a t-shirt and track-suit pants – an outfit that Molly never thought she would see on him). His hair was still mussed up and his face was unshaven, but he did look refreshed, which relieved her.

Sensing her presence again, Mycroft turned his head and gave a small smile when he spotted her. He opened his arms and she gratefully entered his embrace. Both savored the feel and smell of each other again – it seemed that neither could get enough.

"Thank you…for letting me come to you," Molly murmured into the collar of his dressing gown. "For bringing me here…for everything…"

Lifting her chin, Mycroft kissed each of her flaming cheeks. "Do not thank me, Molly. Ten lifetimes of repentance wouldn't make up for the way I treated you. I am merely attempting to try."

"Stop with that talk, My," she gently reprimanded. "I understand what happened, and I've forgiven you completely. Okay?"

He gave a deep sigh, and pressed his forehead to hers. He wasn't quite ready to forgive himself, but her words meant that he would try.

Caressing his scruffy cheek, Molly changed the subject with the ghost of a smile. "This is a different look for you…have you ever considered letting it grow out?"

His nose crinkled a bit. "Not really…you like it?"

She shrugged. "I'll tell you when it's a bit longer. And that coffee smells delicious. Since you made that, I insist on making breakfast." She took a step back and looked around the quaint little kitchen. "Wait…I don't even know if there's any food here."

Mycroft squeezed her hand and sat down at the kitchen table with his mug. "Don't worry. The pantry was fully stocked at my request when I phoned a neighbor yesterday."

Stepping up to him after taking a long sip of the excellent brew, she asked, "How did you come to know about this lovely retreat?"

After setting his mug on the tabletop, Mycroft gently guided her to sit across his lap, both careful of the hot mug she was holding. Resting his chin atop her shoulder, he softly spoke: "I came here as a child…Sherlock was two-and-a-half, and we were ten…" She didn't miss the flash of pain that shot across his light eyes, knowing how hard it must be for him to talk about his twin. She kissed his forehead, and he was able to continue. "The owner, Madame De Becque, was an old schoolmate of my mother's, and this is her summer cottage. She lent it to us for the summer holidays, and it was a wonderful time…our first and last family vacation…This is the first time I've come back since then…"

"Then I'm honored you brought me here," Molly said, caressing his nose with hers. "And I hope I may thank Madame De Becque for letting us stay here for two months."

An almost shy blush filled Mycroft's cheeks. "Actually…it's no longer hers, it's mine. Last year, she put up the property for sale, too old to maintain it by and for herself. On an impulse, really, I bought it." He kissed her jaw line, a butterfly kiss. "I wasn't entirely sure why I did it at the time, but it happened during the time where I was becoming more and more aware of my growing attraction for you. Even then, I had a small hope…that I could create and cherish new memories of this place…but only if you were with me."

Molly had the good sense to put her mug on the table beside his own before wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him with complete abandon. Mycroft held her to him tightly, determined more than ever to do everything in his power to help her heal and make her feel joy again.

He couldn't wait to start planning the lovely adventures he and her could have here together.

* * *

**A/N: **_Sorry this took a while to update. My old laptop decided to have a slow and painful death, and I've only recently replaced it. Now I don't have to worry that anything I type will be lost in cyberjunk! Hope you enjoyed the healing fluff – more to come, along with some serious feels (they are grieving after all) in the next chapter. And yeah, I'm giving Mycroft a beard, because I think that Mark Gatiss is dashing when he has one. :)_


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen**

The July and August of 2013 were the months in which Molly Hooper and Mycroft Holmes hid away from the world, in a little cottage near Biarritz on the southwest coast of France. The adventures they had were not the kind one would normally read or hear about, for they are not the kind that would be called 'exciting' or 'thrilling.' But what does that matter? What matters is that, for those two months, Molly and Mycroft had only each other to worry about, to help, to heal, to bond with, and to learn to love all the more.

* * *

Each day, Mycroft and Molly learned how to live with each other. For two people who had lived alone ever since leaving their childhood homes, it was surprisingly not as difficult as one might expect. Perhaps it was because they needed each other, and they knew it.

However, the morning of their third day at the cottage, Molly discovered a matter she felt needed to be discussed and cleared up.

They had just sat down to breakfast: fresh-baked bread and Danishes from the local bakery just down the road. Mycroft, being the early riser, had decided to purchase them as well as a national newspaper in town (it was no surprise to Molly just how fluent he was in French). He had it open beside his breakfast plate, and was reading it at an impressive pace.

As Molly was about to pick up her now-empty dishes, she noticed that Mycroft's brows and lips had a pinched look to them, which meant he had something unpleasant on his mind. She reached across the table and touched his wrist. He looked up with a bit of a start, and her suspicions were confirmed. "What's got you worried?"

He gave a little sigh and pushed the paper aside. "Not worried, really. Just a bit annoyed. There are a few hints in an article towards a pending agreement between this country and ours…but it will work out, these things always do."

With that, Mycroft got up with his own plates and paper in hand, tossing the latter in the trash bin before washing his dishes clean. Deciding to leave the matter be, Molly resumed her own task and followed him to the sink.

However, as the day went on, Molly noticed that the slightly pinched expression would return to his face from time to time when he thought she wasn't looking. And so, as they prepared their supper in the kitchen together, Molly touched his wrist again.

"You know, if you need to check in, call Anthea or anything, you should," she said.

Mycroft shook his head vigorously. "No, Molly. You are my only priority while we're here."

She smiled at that, and turned his head to face her by cupping his cheek. "Mycroft, we may be escaping from the world for a while, but I won't lose sight of reality. I know how important your position is, despite the official title of 'minor position' you like to flaunt about. I certainly don't want the country to sink into the ocean while we're away, or for anything that shouldn't happen to happen. I would much rather be your first priority than your only priority." She offered a ghost of a smile – her first real one since she'd lost her brother. "Lord knows you'd get sick of me a lot more quickly if I was the _only_ thing you needed to worry about."

Leaning into her hand, Mycroft closed his eyes and kissed her palm. "I adore you," he breathed.

Molly's ghost of a smile turned into a real smile – the first one since she'd found out about Rinehart. "And I love you. So, why don't you make a quick call to Anthea, and when you're done, our dinner will be ready."

Mycroft nodded, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in for an embrace. "I'll check in with her every few days or so, just a quick phone call or e-mail. I'm confident that nothing so terrible will happen that she couldn't handle it or would call me back to England."

"And even if there will be," said Molly, "I'll come with you without hesitation."

He held her to him, burying his nose in her hair for a moment before lowering his mouth to her ear. "And for the record, my dear one: _I will never get sick of you…Never._"

Molly destroyed her impulse to cry by kissing him fiercely before letting him go make his phone call.

* * *

After that first night in the cottage, Molly and Mycroft reached a silent but firm agreement that they would not sleep in different beds. There were several reasons for this: not wanting to be apart, as another aspect of learning to live together, and being there for the other when nightmares and grief would unexpectedly hit full-force. There was very little initial awkwardness between the two, perhaps because they had no doubts or lack of trust between them.

Usually, Mycroft would be the first to rise. With a kiss to her temple or shoulder, he would carefully get out of the bed with every intention of letting her sleep in a little longer and wake up as slowly as she wanted to. While waiting for her to join him, Mycroft would take advantage of his moments alone to check his messages. Thankfully, Anthea covered for him admirably, and the only work Mycroft would have to do was answer the odd email every few days.

However, nearly a month into their stay, Molly woke up before Mycroft did. She would never be able to say why in the future, since she hadn't been having a nightmare or any dream she could remember. Instinctively she knew that the sun was rising, and she wanted nothing more than to just allow herself to easily fall back to sleep. Which wouldn't be too difficult, since the bed was warm and Mycroft's big-spoon embrace even warmer. It felt ever so nice…

Then, Molly became aware of another sensation, both extremely nice and frightening from the shock of it. At the level of their mid-sections, to be more specific.

Immediately after registering what it was that she was feeling, Molly's heart began to pound and her breathing became heavier. The temperature immediately rose from a very pleasant warmth to a siren-red hot. Not wanting Mycroft to wake by sensing how stiff her own body was becoming, Molly carefully shifted herself forward, out of his embrace and their bed. As she tiptoed out of the room, she thought she heard him stir in the bed, but didn't turn around to see if he had woken or not.

She later assumed he hadn't, because he did not emerge from the bedroom for another two hours. By then, Molly had calmed herself to a degree. After all, it hadn't been the first time she'd felt his body react to her (she still blushed when she remembered the evening of his last birthday and that make-out session that had come out of the blue), and the term "morning stifle" certainly didn't exist for nothing. But as they broke their fast, Molly felt deep down a persistent seed of uneasiness. She had no shame in admitting to herself that she was physically and sexually attracted to the man she loved – there was no shame in that, after all – and she was fairly certain that Mycroft felt the same level of attraction as her. What was bothering her was the fact that she had absolutely no idea of what to do about it now.

Just before the terrible tragedies of learning about Rinehart and then David's death, Mycroft and Molly had seemed well on their way to making their romantic relationship intimate. Their passionate display of affection on his birthday had definitely opened the door for similar heated sessions in the weeks following – all the way up to the day Molly had found out about his twin brother. Since then, well, physical intimacy had been the _last_ thing on her mind. And since reuniting with him, while they had not been shy about showing each other physical affection, anything beyond a passionate kiss hadn't occurred. They shared a bed for tender reasons rather than carnal.

But it couldn't go on like this forever, when both held these desires…so why had it scared her out of the bed.

She must have fallen into contemplation, because Mycroft pulled her from her thoughts with a gentle kiss to her cheek. "Hm?" she said dumbly, looking at him.

His small smile held tender amusement. "You've been washing the same plate for three minutes."

Looking down at the kitchen sink, Molly saw that he'd been right: she'd been washing her breakfast plate much more thoroughly than needed. "Oh, uh…oops," she said, not really able to come up with a better explanation.

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, he said softly, "It's going to be a lovely and warm day today. Would you mind us taking a long walk along the beach?"

She smiled, feeling completely at ease again in his safe presence. "That sounds absolutely lovely."

* * *

And so the two dressed appropriately and took the very short walk from the back door to the sandy shore. They held hands, and took off their shoes before venturing to walk along the wet sand that warm ocean waves came up to caress in regular intervals. Since it wasn't a very windy day, the waves were gentle and showed no danger of knocking either of them over. At first, they're leisurely pace was spent in silence. And then Mycroft broke it carefully.

"Molly…I woke up as soon as you left the bed this morning. Did you have another nightmare?"

Molly gulped and then sighed, knowing that the issue would have to be dealt with now. "No…I'm not sure why I woke up before you, but I didn't want to wake you so I left the bed." The truth, then, just not the whole truth. It was all Molly could do to not stutter as her cheeks burned.

But Mycroft seemed to already know the whole truth. He brought their joined hands up to the level of his heart, covering them with his free hand as they continued to stroll slowly. "I am sorry if I…frightened you or made you uncomfortable this morning. It wasn't my intention and…I couldn't help it."

His voice had grown quiet and when Molly looked up at his profile, she saw that his own cheeks were quite pink. She brought their joined hands to the level of her own heart and kissed the top of his in hers. "I know, Mycroft, and if I didn't trust you completely, I wouldn't be away from home with you alone, let alone share the same bed every night. I just…we haven't really talked about when…when we will…"

"Consummate?" he finished for her, softly.

Blushing even harder at his choice of word, Molly nodded.

Sighing, Mycroft released his hand from her hold and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing her gently to his side. Their steps stopped, and he turned them both to face the water. "Well…I've never had this conversation before," he said, looking contemplatively out at the water. "How do we start?"

Molly rested her head on his shoulder. "Well…I'm pretty sure that I'm not…quite ready yet…My actions this morning, well, that's evidence of that, and…I'm still wandering in this heavy fog left by David's…" Her throat closed itself against the terrible word; Mycroft kissed her head lingeringly and she was able to speak again. "I don't want our first time together to be about anything but us. What I mean is…I want to, have wanted to consummate our relationship for a while now…and I feel like if we do so now, I would be doing it to escape from my grief as much as wanting to be close to you."

"I understand completely, my love," Mycroft said. "To be honest, if you had wanted to go physically further this morning than we've gone before…much as I would be tempted, I would probably stop you as gently as I could. Not only for your reasons, but…well, I don't believe I'm ready yet, either."

Molly looked up at his profile, and raised a hand to rest against his chest. "Can you tell me why? Is it your age, or that you've been celibate for a long while?"

"Those are factors, certainly, but…not the greatest factor." He patted her hand before lowering his arm from her shoulders and taking a few steps away from her and then back. "I knew I would have to tell you eventually, before we became physically intimate…" His face turned to his feet in the wet sand.

Molly stepped up to him and took his hands, squeezing them. "You can tell me anything, Mycroft, you know that. I'm right here."

He rested his forehead against hers for a moment before pulling back and bravely telling a story.

"I told you when our relationship started that I was sexually active in my university days. These were all one-night stands, casual arrangements, 'no strings attached' as the generation below us loves to say. I'm not exactly proud of this, but at least I was always very clear to each of my partners and never left anybody with false or shattered hopes." He took a deep breath. "I also told you that, during that time, only once did I seriously consider having a real relationship with anybody.

"It was my final year of my undergraduate studies. I had been invited to a party by my future employer. Very posh and quite intimidating. I only managed to get through by taking a leaf out of my little brother's book: mentally deducing each person I was introduced to, and going from there as to how to behave and not start off on the wrong foot with anybody. So I was able to make the party a success for myself.

"Also at that party was a young personal assistant to a diplomat. Her name was Ilaria, and she was…breath-takingly striking. We eyed each other all night. Over the next few months, we would see each other at other smaller gatherings, always managing to sneak away to flirt and, um," Mycroft cleared his throat, looking down, "do some heavy petting."

Much as she was loath to imagine her Mycroft doing any such activity with another woman, Molly reminded herself that this was years ago and he was here with her now. She squeezed his hands, silently telling him it was okay to continue. He met her eyes again and did. It looked like it was taking him a lot of courage to speak now.

"By the time we arranged a time and place to consummate our heated flirtations, I was convinced that I had met _the _woman, the epitome of women as it were. So I was naturally extremely…eager to…take things as far as we could…unfortunately, my body proved to be…too eager too soon…"

The poor man's cheeks were positively tomato red now. It wasn't hard for Molly to deduce what had happened, and her heart went out to him. Knowing that words wouldn't do any good right now, Molly rose on her tiptoes and kissed each of his hot cheeks. He cleared his throat, squeezed her hands, and found the words to continue in an indifferent tone that did nothing to disguise from Molly the deep embarrassment of the memory

"She scoffed, laughed, and jabbed me with ridicule coldly before leaving the room. After that, we never spoke again. I did all within my power never to even look at her again." He twisted his mouth to one side, as if not liking the taste of the words on his tongue he was about to let out. "For about a year after that, I continued to have casual affairs and one-night stands…I believe the term 'revenge sex' would apply here. I suppose I was trying to prove to myself that I was not…that I was still a…functioning male, and not somehow…less of a man."

A string of Molly's restraint snapped: she grabbed his face and pressed her lips to his. His reaction was immediate, his arms clasping her to him tightly, as if reassuring himself of her loving presence. When they finally pulled apart to breathe, Molly whispered fiercely: "You are more of a man than any I've ever met. And she was a shallow, heartless bitch for making you believe you weren't, even for one moment. Do you hear me, My?"

He buried his face in her neck, holding her to him tightly. "Yes, my love, I do," he breathed.

They held each other for a while, while the winds of the ocean caressed them like a strong protector. When the silence was finally broken, it was by Molly. "What made you decide to stop, then?"

Mycroft sighed. "A number of things. Both the escalation of my career and Sherlock discovering the world of narcotic stimulation made me realize it was time to grow up and lay some distractions to a permanent rest." He lifted Molly's chin until she met his eyes; her own were full of compassion that warmed his heart. "But no more. You know I am willing to wait for you, but I'm relieved that you are also willing to wait for me. The thought of such a lovely creature as you wanting _me_, when you could have your pick…it staggers me."

Blushing, Molly gave a hollow chuckle and looked back to the water as they resumed their leisurely stroll. Each kept an arm securely around the other.

"I could hardly have my pick, My," she murmured, still watching the waves. "I told you once before that I've only ever had two romantic relationships, therefore two sexual partners, before you. The first was in my second year at University. His name was Michael, and he was my age. We met in a biology lab we had together; we were partners. We only lasted half a year."

"What happened?" asked Mycroft softly.

"Ultimately, we were kids who wanted different things," said Molly frankly. "After going through secondary school where the only times boys took notice of me was to call me 'Mousy Molly' or 'Morbid Molly,' I was just so happy that a boy was actually interested in me. He, like me, was a virgin, and more than anything, he didn't want to be one anymore. He was good to me, I'll give him that…but I do remember thinking, after our first time, 'Wow…I can't get that back.' He initiated the break-up because he'd met another girl at a party who interested him more. I was sad at first, but I had my advancing studies to occupy my mind, and soon after I realized that we never would have lasted. I've never regretted my first relationship, though. It proved to me that it was possible for a man to find me attractive, to be interested in me, even fall in love with me."

"And you reached the correct conclusion," said Mycroft, kissing her forehead while squeezing her shoulders. "And your second relationship?"

Molly sighed. "That's a bit sadder, I'm afraid. It started my first year of medical school, and his name was Edward. He was an engineer. We met through mutual friends, hit it off right away, and I was very happy with him for over a year. We were close to moving in together when my dad's cancer took a really bad turn…even though pancreatic cancer is one of the worst, we all thought he'd have a bit more time."

Her voice was beginning to shake, so Mycroft ceased their walk and held her to him gently, running his fingers through her hair. Molly took a few deep breaths, resting her cheek against his chest, and then was able to continue.

"You know the expression 'a fair-weather friend?' Someone who will stick by you as long as everything is going well but can't handle taking on the role of supporting someone through a tough time? Well…Edward turned out to be a fair-weather boyfriend. It didn't end happily, because he ended it by taking a job in Belfast, and I only found out when I found the note he'd slipped through my mail slot before leaving…My dad died a month later."

Mycroft made a mental note to himself to track this bastard down and make his life considerably more difficult than it already was. Now, though, he focused on the woman he loved by kissing away the tears that had fallen from her eyes. "He was a heartless coward then, and nowhere near worthy of you. Is that why you haven't had an intimate relationship since?"

Sighing, Molly nodded, idly fingering the buttons of his polo shirt. "It probably played the biggest factor. It made me very wary and cautious about opening up my heart again. Truth be told, I was never really tempted; I did tell you that the men I went on dates with were usually turned off by my profession or I just wasn't eye-catching enough. I think I let myself become infatuated with Sherlock because, deep down, I knew it would never amount to anything…in that way, it was safe."

She then raised her head and met his eyes again. "But you made me braver. You had no reason to reach out to me after the fall, but you did. No reason to become my friend, but you did."

"Not no reason, my love," said Mycroft, caressing her cheek. "From the moment I saw you at Sherlock's funeral, my heart went out to you. Now it's yours completely, and I hope you know that I intend to stay for all types of weather, fair or foul."

"I know," said Molly, giving him a sweet kiss. "You show me that every day." She took a breath. "Now, going back to our original conversation…neither of us are quite ready yet, but I think we'll know when we are. And whatever happens, Mycroft, know that everything will be okay. I may not have as much experience as some women my age, but just know that I would never, _never, _do what she did."

"Oh, Molly, I've known that for a long time," said Mycroft. He then kissed her behind the ear, and whispered, "And know, my dearest, that when the time comes, I will do everything in my power to show you just how beautiful and desirable you are."

Molly shuddered a bit and then melted into his embrace. They soon continued their walk along the beach, their bare feet caressed by the gentle waves of warm ocean water, one intertwined soul dwelling in two bodies.


	19. Chapter 19

**Nineteen**

Grief may be a part of the human experience so old that we are able to describe and categorize it into stages and aspects, but all human beings are individuals and will therefore experience it in a way unique only to themselves. But there is one thing that grief will always do to each human it touches: it never plays fair.

* * *

Both being natural introverts, both Molly and Mycroft sometimes needed a bit of time to themselves. Both understood this, and knowing that the other would be right there waiting for them, it didn't make them feel frightened or guilty when they separated.

On one lovely and late afternoon, Molly took a walk to the village that was just down the road from their cottage. She had it in her mind to do a little bit of shopping in some of the clothing shops and boutiques. Some of the summer dresses she had seen on display in their front windows were very beautiful, and not very practical clothing to wear back home. In this beautiful place with an average high temperature, Molly wanted to dress appropriately for comfort and prettily for Mycroft.

As she stood at the front of one store, admiring a beautiful pale blue frock on prominent display, a movement in the window's reflection caught her eye. Impulsively, she turned around, because something about it struck her as very familiar. Once she did, she immediately regretted it.

Standing on the sidewalk by a parked car was a small family. The father was helping the mother load groceries into the trunk of the car, while the two children – a boy and a girl – stood nearby. The girl, who looked about ten years old, was helping her brother, probably four or five, tie the laces of his right trainer.

Like a punch to the gut, a memory flooded through Molly's mind:

_"__Come on, you two munchkins! Time for school!" Dr. Hooper called from the foot of the staircase._

_ "__We're coming, Daddy!" called nine-year-old Molly from the doorway of David's room. She then turned back around and walked back to her four-year-old brother. He was carefully buttoning the last button of his jacket. When he was done, he gave her a proud grin and said, "All ready, Mo!"_

_ "__Oh, really?" said Molly, giggling. "Take a look at your right shoe."_

_He did, and then he groaned: the laces had come undone. "I still can't do it!"_

_ "__You will, D," said Molly, walking to him and kneeling down in front of him. As she correctly tied the laces, she continued speaking. "We'll practice after school today, as much as we need to until you feel confident doing it yourself."_

_ "__Confident?" the four-year-old inquired. It was a new word for him._

_Molly smiled up at him. "It means knowing and feeling you can do something. Don't you remember in _The Sound of Music_? The song Maria sings? 'I have confidence in sunshine…'"_

_ "'__I have confidence in rain,'" David joined her with his smile back on his face._

_They skipped out of his room continuing to sing the song…_

Molly was pulled back to reality by the sound of the family's car starting up. She gave a jolt, not realizing the tears which had rolled down her cheeks. Finding it quite difficult to breathe, and forgetting all thoughts of new clothes, Molly began walking at a fast pace down the sidewalk and out of the village.

When she reached the cottage, she walked right past it without really seeing it. Though Mycroft was inside, the cottage was not her conscious or unconscious goal. Her desperate steps led her straight to the beach behind the cottage. Back and forth she walked along the shoreline, the waves crashing against her shins and soaking through her trouser legs and shoes.

Molly didn't notice and didn't care. Memories were coming in waves faster and stronger than the physical ones she barely felt. All of the memories were small ones, little moments between herself and her brother, all throughout their lives…and each one hit her mind like a punch to the gut, and wrenched a sob from her chest.

When she became too overwhelmed, her feet slowly turned her towards the ocean. Through her tears she could barely see the great body of water, but she didn't care. She could really feel the waves now, cool and sharp against her. But what she felt from them most of all was their power, their energy, and their strength – all of which felt large enough to battle her grief, or at least to numb it for a while.

Like a zombie, Molly took a few stumbling steps into the water, the waves steadily crashing against and soaking her. Then, she fell to her knees, so the waves almost washed over her head – which is exactly what she wanted. She wanted her sobs to fade into the roar, and her tears to melt into the water. So she didn't hold back her grief, safe in the camouflage of the waves.

Then, after a while, she was no longer alone. A warm body suddenly appeared behind her, and pressed against her back. Strong arms wrapped around her torso, as if to prevent her from letting the waves carry her away. Molly's breath caught, her sobbing paused, but it took her less than a second to realize who it was. Since it was exactly who she needed, she let her crying resume, and she gripped his arms and rested her head in the crook of his elbow.

When her sobs ended and gave way to shivers, Mycroft guided them both slowly up to a standing position. They clung to each other even after they'd left the ocean behind and walked, dripping and shivering something awful, back into the cottage.

* * *

Several hours later, after both had supped, bathed and changed into warm clothing, Molly made a heartbreaking observation. When she had exited her bedroom in her warm flannel pajamas, she found Mycroft sitting on the sofa of the cozy sitting room, in his own warm flannels. Though the television was on, with Hitchcock's black-and-white adaption of _Rebecca _playing, the sound was muted. He was leaning forward with his hands folded, elbows resting on his knees and his chin resting on his chest. Though his breathing was deep and measured, the heel of his left foot was infinitesimally rattling up and down.

After a moment, Molly realized why he seemed shaken, and she wanted to slap herself. In a few long strides, she had crossed the room and stood before him. Made aware of her presence, Mycroft looked up, and Molly could read the fear and worry in his eyes as brightly as a traffic light. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she commanded softly: "Lie back."

He obeyed wordlessly, and gladly opened his arms to her when she joined him, resting herself between his legs and pressing her chest to his. Cupping his face, she said, "I frightened you, and I'm so sorry. I swear, _I swear, _I would never, _never,_ do that to you."

Mycroft shut his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers. "I know." He lifted a finger to his temple. "I know that here, and I _do _know that here, too." He brought that finger over his heart, where her hands gently rested. "I suppose that certain images, no matter the context, will always have the power to terrify."

She kissed him gently, but with her heart on her lips. "I love you."

"I know," he replied with his heart in his voice. He then laid his head back and tucked her head beneath his chin. He then picked up the remote control from the nearby coffee table, unmuted the television, and the two watched the rest of Hitchcock's first masterpiece in warm silence.

* * *

Molly was not the only person to grieve their lost brother that summer. Yes, Mycroft had experienced his own terrible loss thirty-two years ago, but as a ten-year-old child he had shut himself and his pain away from everybody, including himself. He had thought it would be easier that way, and had continued to think so until Molly had captured his heart. Now, long overdue but by no means too late, everything he had denied to himself came back in waves and floods.

Mycroft knew with every fiber of his being that it was only because of Molly that he was getting through it alive. She was there whenever he remembered, whenever he was ready to speak, whenever his own nightmares came, and whenever his emotions tore from him like beasts held long in captivity but always dreaming of freedom.

And when all four of those things culminated in the perfect storm, she was right there.

* * *

Molly woke with the sound of steady rainfall against the glass of the windows pittering and pattering. Squinting at the clock on the bedside table, Molly saw that it was just past two in the morning. And something wasn't right. The rain couldn't have woken her up – it had been raining steadily since the early evening – and if she'd had a bad dream she would have woken up more suddenly.

Then, once the fog of sleep had cleared a bit more, Molly realized that Mycroft was not spooning her, as was his custom. In fact, she couldn't feel his presence in the bed. Perhaps he had gone to the washroom, or to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

But Molly soon discovered that neither were true when she could make out the sound of heavy, ragged breathing amidst the pattering rain. She looked over her shoulder, and then immediately sat up at the sight that met her eyes.

Mycroft was sitting on the edge of his side of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the carpeted floor. His posture was slumped over yet his shoulders held tension; his hands gripped the bed sheets by his hips. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Molly realized that his torso was bare, and this confused her. He _always _made sure he wore pajamas to bed, out of respect for her. Her eyes began to roam the room, and soon saw that the grey t-shirt he had put on before bed was lying crumpled in a corner of the room.

Nothing good would have made Mycroft tear off his shirt and toss it into a corner. Molly realized that it must have been a nightmare. Usually, if ever he had one, she would be woken by his tossing, turning or whimpers, just as he was when she had nightmares. Perhaps she'd been sleeping too deeply to wake when he'd woken, and she knew he wouldn't want to wake her.

But she was awake now, and she would give whatever comfort and help that she could.

So, carefully, Molly crawled across the bed until she was at his side. Placing a hand on his back between his shoulder blades, she felt the remnants of a cold sweat, and her heart ached for the man she loved. Her touch startled him, and he looked at her with eyes as wide and terrified as a child's after a bad dream.

"My…" she murmured, cupping his cheek with her free hand. Feeling the moisture of tears in his beard made her heart ache even more. "I'm right here."

The poor man closed his eyes and leaned into her hand on his face. His entire body shuddered, and his arms weakly reached out to her. Without thinking twice, Molly wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She gasped when he grabbed her waist and lifted her onto his lap. Straddling him, he held her tightly so his bare chest pressed against hers, clothed in a tank top. She held him just as tightly, arms wrapped around his shoulders and one hand stroking the back of his neck soothingly. He pressed his face against her neck, each deep breath bringing the shivering of his body down lower.

When the shaking was gone, and he'd turned his face to rest is forehead on her shoulder, Molly kissed his temple and extricated herself from her lap. She then crawled back onto the bed and pulled her with him until they sat on the middle of it. Looking at his face, Molly could see his mouth was slightly open, his lips nearly moving. He wanted to talk, but he was struggling to begin.

A memory came back into her mind from her childhood, when David had a bad dream, came to her and needed to talk about it before trying to fall asleep again. That memory guided her next actions.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, and caressed Mycroft's face. With a look that said "trust me," Molly guided Mycroft to lie down and rest his head on her lap. Soon he lay in a fetal position, his cheek resting on her thigh, and his eyes gazing unfocused at the bedroom door. Molly ran her fingers through his hair, and with her other hand laced her fingers through his own. They both held on tightly.

Finally, Mycroft began to speak in a quiet, broken voice.

"Both Rinehart and Sherlock came down with fevers and coughs the same weekend…the current epidemic sweeping through our school and village left us in no doubt that it was pneumonia…I was sent to stay with Uncle Rudy so I wouldn't get sick…I begged them not to, even though I knew it was the smart thing to do…We shared a room, after all…I remember leaving the house, and all I could hear was the fit of coughing he was having…"

Molly could feel a few drops of moisture soak through the fabric of her pajama bottoms. Her own eyes were burning with tears as she listened to his most painful memory that had undoubtedly playing as a nightmare in his mind tonight.

"I stayed with Uncle Rudy for nearly two weeks, and I couldn't go home. As my mother's eccentric, bachelor and hermit little brother, Uncle Rudy was wise enough to leave me to take care of myself, though he took care that I was never left alone in the house in case we heard news. We received daily updates, calls from my mother or visits from my father. Sherlock recovered after six days, and that left us believing that Rinehart…that he would recover very soon after…But he didn't…He just got weaker…and weaker…" Mycroft's body began to shake again. "And then…my mother came to Uncle Rudy's house…she was crying…and the moment she saw me she held me to her and said…she said…"

He couldn't continue anymore as he finally let himself succumb to his tears. Molly, who was crying right along with him, lowered her head and rested her cheek against his, her tears mingling with his own...

* * *

When Mycroft finally felt able to fall back asleep, exhausted and drained, Molly laid them back down and covered them with the blankets again. Lying on her back, she cradled his head when he laid it on her chest. He held onto her, the tension in his body finally gone.

"I love you," he breathed.

Her lips pressed to the crown of her head. "I know."

Within seconds, they were fast asleep, still healing each other together.


	20. Chapter 20

**Twenty**

Though the couple spent most of that summer in or around their little cottage, there were a few times when they felt the need to travel further and have a little adventure. None of these included going to places that would be crowded and packed with tourists, like Paris. While Molly had always wanted to visit the city and Mycroft thought it had some admirable qualities, both knew that it wasn't the right time to go – they had plenty of time for that. No, the little outings that they took were always relatively quiet, and each of them had a reason.

In the middle of August, Molly and Mycroft took a little trip that they were more than a little excited about. They took a train ride to the foothills of the Pyrenees in the south of France. Their stop was the small town of Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges. From the station, they rented bicycles and pedaled through the cobbled streets and countryside to their destination: the medieval cathedral it was now famous for.

This ancient and unusual cathedral had served as the inspiration for the first of M. R. James's first published ghost story: "Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book." It must be one of the few horror stories that can also serve as a tour guide book. Neither had ever been there before, and wanted to take advantage of being in France to make a visit. And because the ghost stories of M. R. James had been one of the first things they had bonded over when their friendship began, this was an opportunity too good to pass by.

The summer day was quite warm and could not have been more lovely, but to Mycroft, it paled in comparison to Molly. She was wearing a new summer dress that she had bought in the village close to their cottage. The fabric perfectly matched the summer sky above them, with a sweetheart top and spaghetti straps over her shoulders. Her long chestnut tresses gleamed auburn in the sunlight, flowing freely behind her back.

Molly was equally entranced by Mycroft's look for the day. He wore light khaki trousers and a white button-up shirt; no blazer, no waistcoat, no tie, a very rare sight. The shirtsleeves were rolled up above the elbow, revealing his freckled forearms; the first couple of buttons to his shirt were undone, revealing tufts of auburn chest hair. Yes, his torso had been bare when she'd comforted him after his worst nightmare, but it had been quite dark and that had hardly been the appropriate time to notice or appreciate his body.

Both could safely say that their love looked absolutely and naturally beautiful.

Their day spent at the cathedral was just as leisurely as their journey there. Both could barely contain their excitement as they explored all that the ghost story had pointed out: the stain-glass windows, the medieval murals, and especially the stuffed crocodile hanging above the font. Mycroft soon lost count of all the pictures Molly wanted taken inside, and he didn't mind in the slightest. They then had a picnic outside among the ancient graves, and spent the afternoon reading their favorite stories of the ghost writer aloud to each other.

But when they were cycling back into town, as the sun got closer to the horizon, fate provided them with a surprise to end their lovely day.

"Are you telling me that you weren't the least bit creeped out?" Molly asked Mycroft, a smirk on her face.

"My dear, I have had to stand toe to toe with the world's most intimidating and powerful rulers," Mycroft replied smoothly, though he kept his eyes on the road. "Why would the stuffed carcass of a long-dead reptile 'creep me out,' as you put it?"

"So you only looked at it when I asked you to take a picture because…"

But her victorious smirk was soon replaced by terror when coming around the sharp turn ahead of them came a pair of headlights on a big truck that was honking blue murder. Both Molly and Mycroft shrieked with abandon, and swerved their bicycles hard right. They tumbled onto the grass – their bicycles collapsed with grated bangings and ringings – and the truck sped past them still honking in fury.

When the sounds of the honking and the loud motor had faded away, leaving a much more tranquil atmosphere to the French countryside. Groaning, Mycroft forced himself to sit up, mentally noting that no worse damage than some inconvenient bruising had been done. Then, the sounds of groaning from Molly brought his full attention away from himself and to her.

"Molly!" He crawled to her side, where she lay a few feet away from him. Her eyes were closed, and she was grimacing as she groaned pitifully. "Are you alright? Is anything broken? Please tell me that you're alright!"

His frantic cries brought Molly fully to the present; her eyes opened and her groans ceased. "Uh huh…I'm okay, nothing feels broken…"

Mycroft helped her to sit up, keeping an arm around her shoulders. Molly winced at the shift in her position on the ground. "Oh, does your bum feel as sore as mine?"

Her eyes met his for a moment, and then she seemed to collapse inward, her chin sinking onto her chest and her shoulders hunching. Her body began to shake, and for a moment Mycroft feared that she was starting to sob. But then he heard her, and it wasn't sobbing – it was _giggling_. When she looked up at his shocked face again, it swelled into full laughter.

"Your face…" she gasped between her laughter, which was so hard that tears leaked from her eyes. "When the truck came…we were so scared!"

Relief and joy filled Mycroft, and he let himself catch her contagious, hysterical laughter. He gathered her in his arms as they laughed with complete freedom. When their laughter calmed, Mycroft saw that Molly had an awed look on her face. "What is it, my love?" he asked, caressing her cheek.

She took a deep breath. "I didn't know if I would ever be able to laugh…at all, let alone that hard…ever again…and not feel terrible or guilty about it."

Mycroft kissed her forehead. "Because you know that David would have found this just as funny, probably even more so. Take it from me: little brothers _savor _the moments when older siblings do something silly."

Molly gave a watery giggle, and rested her head on his shoulder. "How very true that is."

"You see now?" Mycroft whispered against her temple. "You're going to make it through this."

"Oh, I already knew that," said Molly matter-of-factly, lifting her head so she met his eyes. "I knew I was going to be alright the moment I saw you'd come back. Now I know that I can feel joy again."

Tears burned in Mycroft's eyes that had nothing to do with the wild laughter that had overcome them both moments ago. In that moment he knew; in his mind, heart and soul, a truth rang so clearly and loudly that he would do anything to make a reality. He didn't share it with her; for now, he merely held her to him. But hopefully, with his next steps clear before him, she would soon know…and agree with her whole heart.

* * *

"Molly, would you mind making a slight delay on our return home to London?" he asked in a casual tone, keeping his focus on his task.

Molly, leaning against the bathroom door and watching in some fascination as he shaved, shook her head a bit before answering. "What kind of delay?"

"I'd like to spend a few days at my parents' cottage," he said, a softer tone entering his voice. "They've been so worried about the both of us, and though they know that we're together again, I think showing them would do us all a world of good."

Molly smiled tenderly at him. "I would absolutely love to, My."

Soon, his task was finished, and Mycroft was a clean-shaven man again. Wiping his face with a towel, he caught Molly looking at him with a wistful expression. He smirked, toss the towel into the bin, and walked towards her. "Did I really look so much better with a beard?" he asked.

Molly smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You will always be handsome to me, bearded or clean-shaven. I hope you didn't maintain it for so long just for my sake."

Mycroft shook his head. "I grew used to it, and rather liked it. However, there are several men that I work with who would take any sign of a change, even a beard, as a sign of the impending apocalypse."

Molly laughed and rested her cheek against his chest. When she grew quiet, Mycroft stroked her cheek and read her silence correctly.

"We'll be back, my Molly. This is ours to come back to whenever we wish."

Molly hugged him tightly to her. "Ours…I like the sound of that."

"Always," Mycroft kissed her hair, taking this as a good omen.

* * *

And so the couple left France the same way they had come, and Anthea was waiting for the private jet at the small airport in Surrey. She didn't have to; there were no urgent updates from the office, and they would be back in London in three more days. But they were more than just her employer and his significant other – each were her dearest friends, and she wanted to know how they were holding up after the terrible time they'd been through.

It warmed her heart to the core when she saw them coming down the steps of the jet. The heavy weight of misery was gone from Molly's shoulders, and her body unconsciously gravitated towards Mycroft, who had a protective and steadying arm around her. And Anthea breathed a great sigh of relief when Molly greeted her with a warm hug, which she happily returned.

Albert and Rowena Holmes were equally relieved and overjoyed when they saw Mycroft and Molly. They were holding hands as they walked up the front path, and both smiled warmly when they went from the house to greet them with loving hugs and kisses.

That evening, as the four of them sat in the cozy sitting room, with a fire blazing and Mrs. Holmes' excellent cooking settling in his stomach, with his parents sitting opposite him and Molly cuddled against his side, Mycroft felt at home in his childhood home for the first time in over thirty years.

And what a nice feeling it was.

* * *

The next morning, the two men of the house were the first to rise. Both father and son were early birds, and always had been. Best of all, they were the type of birds who were more than willing to let their lady loves sleep rather than insist they greet the day right along with them. Soon the two men, in their pajamas and robes, were sitting at the kitchen table with a warm cup of coffee.

"Did you have a good sleep, son?" asked Albert.

"As a matter of fact, I did," said Mycroft, which was the truth. Last night had been the first time in two months that Mycroft and Molly had slept in separate beds and rooms, and he'd been relieved that he'd gotten through it without a nightmare, especially considering the fact that he had slept in the room he'd shared with his twin.

"You know your mother and I wouldn't object if you two shared a room," Albert said. "We're oldies but not terribly old-fashioned."

Mycroft gave half a smile. "I know, Father, and so does Molly. But she was insistent, saying that we would be going back to our own homes in a few days, anyway, and…I believe she sees this as another stepping stone into regaining her strength."

"Understandable," said Albert.

The two men sat in silence for a while, drinking their coffee. Albert watched his eldest son, who had sunk into deep thought. When he saw a line appear between Mycroft's eyes, Albert gently brought him back to reality by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"What are you thinking, my boy?"

Mycroft lifted his eyes and met those of his father. When he spoke, his tone was quiet but sincere.

"I want to ask Molly to marry me."

* * *

**A/N: **_So this story has become longer than I'd originally planned, but the ending is in sight! Hope the ending has left you excited! And BTW, am I the only one who's really annoyed that we haven't seen neither hide nor hair of either Mycroft or Molly in the photos and trailers for The Abominable Bride? Or have I missed something? I sincerely hope so. If I haven't, I'd better see them January 1st!_


	21. Chapter 21

**Twenty-One**

The words that his eldest son said to him warmed Albert's wise heart to the core. His eyes watered and he smiled, squeezing his son's shoulder. "That's wonderful, my son, truly wonderful." He leaned in a bit. "Now, what is it that is worrying you?"

Mycroft sighed. His father really did know him so well. Just like Molly, there was no wall or defense that Mycroft could put up that his father could not get through. "She's in such a vulnerable place right now. I know the suffering she's been put through, and how painful it is. And we haven't yet been…and right now she's not ready for…physical intimacy. I don't want to somehow push her, or take advantage of her, in any way."

Albert nodded his head. "I understand your worries, and they are perfectly understandable, son. But you're willing to wait, right? Even if it may take a while?"

"Of course!" His answer was immediate and firm. "I know how unbelievably fortunate I am to have her love at all, let alone for her to have forgiven me for the pain I caused her. I will wait for as long as it takes, and she knows this because I've told her. She is…I've never believed in this before, Papa, but I know without a doubt that she is…the one. My soulmate, my other half, whatever term you want to use. And living a life without her…terrifies me more than anything else ever has in my life."

Mycroft's voice had reduced to a raw whisper right now, and the emotions in his eyes brought tears to Albert's own. But he blinked them away and lowered his hand from his son's shoulder to his arm. "My son, all your life you have thought with your mind. In general, that is the correct choice; that's what the mind is for, after all. But there are choices, some of which are very important, where one must not think only with their mind: they must think with their hearts. I know that may seem a strange concept to you, or a thing you may not think you're capable of. But just look how far you have come with Molly, a woman you never had any practical reason to befriend. No two people could come this far if they only listened to their minds."

Mycroft was silent for a few minutes as he mulled over his father's words. He was right, he knew he was right…How many times had he wondered why he had extended friendship to Molly when he'd had no reason to do so? Why had she been an exception after over thirty years of imposed solitude? But Mycroft already knew the answer to these questions, for he had told Molly in the recent months: _ When he saw Molly at his little brother's funeral, weighed down with the terrible knowledge that it was all for show, his heart had gone out to her, and she had kept it safe and close to her ever since._ That had been a moment when he'd listened to his heart, though he wouldn't realize it until much later. As a matter of fact, every right decision he had made in regards to Molly had been guided by his heart; every mistake he had made, most especially his most terrible one in regards to shutting her out about Rinehart, had occurred when he'd ignored his heart.

When he looked back at his father, Albert gave a reassuring smile and squeezed his arm. "Keep listening to your heart, son, and you'll know when the time is right."

Mycroft nodded, the worries gone from his mind for now. "Thank you, Papa."

* * *

For the rest of the day, a nearly constant rain shower kept the four adults inside. Molly and Rowena spent most of the day in the kitchen, baking warm goodies to make up for the wet weather, and Albert and Mycroft were more than happy to sample their end results. All of them went to bed that night with full and satisfied tummies.

The next day dawned bright and sunny. Albert and Molly were eager to work in the pride and joy that was Albert's garden behind the cottage. However, they were in need of some supplies. Rowena immediately volunteered to get them for the two.

"I have some shopping I'd like to do in town today, anyway," she said. "Mycroft, I could use your helping hands."

She said this in a pleasant enough tone that had a layer of steel beneath; Mycroft knew better than to argue with that tone. He agreed immediately, and left the house after giving Molly a kiss and his father a nod. Once the two were in Rowena's car and had pulled clear of the driveway, she exclaimed in a very happy voice:

"Oh, I'm so happy to hear you're planning to bring Molly into the family, Myckie!"

Mycroft shut his eyes, rubbed his face and groaned. "I should have known that Father would tell you. And _please _don't call me that!"

"Of course he did!" said Rowena, cheerfully. "We have no secrets from each other, and you were very silly if you thought he wouldn't tell me!"

She hummed happily to the radio the rest of the short drive into town, while Mycroft sat in embarrassed silence. Once Rowena had parked the car and cut the engine, Mycroft turned to her with a desperate plea in his eyes. "Mummy, please don't let on to Molly. I've no idea if she's ready to consider this next step, and I –"

"Oh, Myc, of course I won't," said Rowena, patting his cheek placatingly. "Have a bit more faith in me, please. I love Molly like a daughter already, and I'll do whatever I can to help you make that official."

Mycroft sighed in relief and followed his mother out of the car and into the flower and gardening supplies shop.

As they browsed the aisles, Mycroft asked his mother a question he had never asked before: "How did Father propose to you, Mummy?"

Rowena slowed to a stop, her hand lingering on a lovely orchid. A soft smile lit her face as her eyes – identical to Sherlock's – glowed with a faraway but beloved memory. "He'd been courting me for almost a year, and it was late spring. I was visiting him in his studio behind his shop. I always loved watching him work with wood; that's when he's truly in his element. He asked for my opinion of his latest creation: a tiny jewelry box, with a carving of lilies-of-the-valley on the lid."

"Your favorite flower," said Mycroft.

Rowena nodded. "He asked me to check the inside, so I opened it. Inside I found two things: the inner side of the lid had been carved with the words, "I adore thee," and resting in the box itself was this." Rowena held up her left hand, indicated a simple golden ring adorned with a modest-sized diamond. "It was his mother's. He hadn't even finished proposing before I'd said yes and leapt on him!"

"Alright, Mummy, I don't need to hear the rest," interrupted Mycroft, his cheeks pink but he was smiling along with his mother. This story was so true to who his father was: modest, romantic, genuine, humble, giving. No wonder he and Molly got along so well; they were cut from the same cloth. Thinking back, Rinehart had been as well. Him and Sherlock had always taken more after Rowena: their bright minds, their ambition, their tendency towards the eccentric. At that moment, the difference had never been so obvious. _How in the world am I going to be able to do this properly?_

Rowena seemed to sense the train of thought that her son had embarked upon, and brought him back to reality by another gentle pat to his cheek. "You'll be just fine, my boy. You love her so much, and she loves you right back. You know her, so you'll know what she would appreciate."

"I hope so," said Mycroft. "All I do know for certain is that neither she nor I like fuss, so there will be none of that, with either the proposal or wedding."

The look he gave Rowena was quite pointed, and she held up a placating hand. "Don't worry, Myc. When the time comes, all I'll ask is that I can accompany her when she gets her dress. One should always have another pair of eyes for that!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes a bit but didn't argue; no point starting a fight he had no chance of winning. They then finished their shopping and exited the gardening shop. "Where to next, Mummy?" asked Mycroft.

She linked her arm with his, turned him away from her car, and pointed down the street. "Let's stop at my bank. I'd like to pick up my mother's ring from the family vault. Thankfully, she and Molly shared the same petite build, so I'm sure we won't need to get it resized."

Mycroft stopped in his tracks, causing Rowena to stop as well. He was looking at her in touched surprise. She smiled at him warmly. "Ever since she died, I've been saving it to give to my first son who wanted to get married. For too long, I've feared I wouldn't be able to pass it down at all." She smoothed Mycroft's hair tenderly, as she had done so many times when he was young. "Molly is a wonderful woman, and you've been able to recognize and accept her as your match. I'm so proud of you, my darling boy."

His throat being quite choked up by her words, Mycroft wordlessly kissed her cheeks and then resumed their walk down the street towards the bank.

* * *

When Rowena returned to the cottage some time later, she walked around the home and came to the back garden. Albert and Molly were kneeling comfortably on the ground, working in the garden diligently and with great care. Smiling at them both, Rowena got their attention by loudly shutting the gate of the white fence. "I've got your supplies!"

Albert smiled, getting up to take them from her. "Thank you, my love."

Molly, who had smiled at Rowena's return, was now looking for Mycroft but not seeing him anywhere. Rowena, after kissing her husband's cheek, caught Molly's searching gaze and smiled gently. "He didn't come with me, dear, and I'm not sure when he'll be coming back. He's going to visit Rinehart."

She and her husband exchanged a significant look of great relief. Molly breathed a sigh, too; in France, Mycroft had told her that he hadn't had the courage to visit his brother's gravesite since the tragic funeral. But it seemed he had finally found the courage. _Thank God_, she thought, and resumed her work among the tulips with an easy heart.

* * *

But by supper time, her heart was starting to worry. Mycroft hadn't come back yet, and none of them had heard from him at all. So Molly sent him a text, hoping she was not disturbing him if he were in a vulnerable state:

_We're about to have supper. Shall I save a plate for you? xo Molly_

Thankfully, his reply came within minutes:

_No need. I probably won't be back until late tonight. Please don't worry, Molly. I'm alright, I promise. If you fall asleep before I return, I will be there when you wake up. MH_

Her heart relaxed and warmed at that. She held the phone to her heart as she told Albert and Rowena not to make up a plate for him.

* * *

Molly woke up the next morning to the sensation of something warm stroking her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, and in the dim light she could make out the outline of Mycroft's face. He had a small, tender smile on his face, which she returned. "Hello," she said sleepily, and then immediately yawning.

He chuckled and kissed her head. "Well, hello," he said. "You didn't have to, but I appreciate you trying to wait up for me."

"I did, didn't I?" said Molly, rubbing her eyes as her mind woke up. The last thing she remembered was curling up on the sitting room sofa with a book, determined to greet Mycroft when he finally came home. Her eyes looked around her, and though the lighting was dim, she could see that they were in Mycroft's childhood room. Looking back up at him, she asked in shock: "Did you carry me upstairs?"

"Yes, what of it?" said Mycroft, sounding a bit pleased with himself. "I promised you that I would be there when you woke up, this bed is far more comfortable and considerably warmer than the sofa, and you are hardly a burden to carry."

"Charmer," Molly giggled against his chest. "Goodness, what time is it? Doesn't feel like morning."

"It's _almost _morning," clarified Mycroft. "Would you like to watch the sunrise with me? I know of the perfect spot."

"Sure," said Molly. "It's not too far, is it?"

"Oh, no, and I promise we'll be back in time for Mummy's hearty breakfast."

"Excellent."

* * *

True to his word, the walk that Mycroft led Molly along took less than fifteen minutes. Behind the Holmes cottage was Albert's beloved garden. Beyond the white picket fence enclosing the garden lay a tiny wood. Beyond that wood lay a modest-sized hill. Mycroft could have walked from the cottage to the top of that hill with a blindfold on and his hands tied together; he'd made that tiny journey since he was very tiny indeed. He held Molly's hand the whole way. Both were bundled up in one of his sweaters, for though this early morning was in summer, this was still England.

Even though the walk was a short one, Molly had to catch her breath when it ended due to the nippy air and the uphill climb. Looking at Mycroft, she could see the exhilaration on his face despite his own shortness of breath, most likely from making this familiar journey again. Seeing that he was looking straight ahead, Molly turned her gaze in that direction and gasped. The view filled her with exhilaration as well.

Facing the east, Molly could see that the sun had just begun its daily climb above the horizon. The mist covering the fields, roads and little hamlets below went from a dull gray to a pristine mixture of gold and silver. The air was calm with nary a breeze, and the only sounds around them was the occasional calling and whistling of birds just starting to wake up.

"Oh, My, this is so beautiful…" breathed Molly. She stepped to the side until she stood in front of him, and he happily brought his arms around her, resting her against his chest and his chin atop her head.

"Yes, it is," said Mycroft softly. "I'd hoped that we would get an ideal morning like this so I could show you this spot at its most lovely. Rinehart and I loved playing up here, pretending that we were knights of the round table. Camelot sat atop this hill for us."

Molly smiled at that, and then squeezed his arm. "How are you doing? You were gone an awfully long time yesterday. I don't even know what time you came back last night, since I didn't wake up when you took me upstairs."

"Around midnight," replied Mycroft. "I am sorry if I worried you yesterday, my love. I honestly didn't mean to be gone for that long. Visiting my twin brother's grave was…long overdue, and I knew it. The visit ended up becoming more of a confessional than anything. After that, I realized that I needed to make a few other necessary errands." He paused for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his cheek rested against her hair and his voice was a bit more vulnerable. "Molly…would your father have…approved of me?"

Molly nuzzled her face in the crook of his arm, holding it more tightly. "Yes, he would have. Though you don't wear your heart on your sleeve, you are a good man with a big heart. You know your strengths and weaknesses; when you make a mistake you do your best to rectify it. Yes, you put up cold and imposing walls for your job, but you are fiercely loyal and protective to your country and the people you love. Most importantly of all – what would have mattered above all else to my father – you love me and I love you. So never worry about that. He would have come to love you, David _did _come to love you, and though my memories are few of her, I believe my mother would have loved you, too."

She felt Mycroft breathe a great sigh of relief and hold her a bit more closely before letting her go. With a pout, Molly saw that he had stepped around her to stand by her side, and he turned her to face him. "That is…very reassuring to hear, my dear," he said. Mycroft took her hands in both of his own quite tightly, lowering his gaze to look at them. "I've never wished this hard in my life…"

"For what?" asked Molly, starting to worry a bit at the nervousness that seemed to come upon him now.

"For the ability to be an artistic person, a creative person, like my father or like you. To be able to create something that can accurately express what I feel for you. For there is no doubt in my mind or heart that it is the best part of myself. Because _you_ are the best and most important part of my life."

Touched to the core, Molly blinked back the tears from her eyes and squeezed his hands. "Oh, My…please don't ever worry about that or wish you were different in any way. There is nothing, _nothing_, about you that I would change. After all, you're the best part of my life, too."

His small smile in response looked reassured and adoring, and he brought up their joined hands to his chest, but his light eyes still retained a drop of anxiousness. "How would you feel then about…redefining that, somewhat?"

For a split second, Molly got scared, but her heart and his eyes soon told her that she had no reason to fear. Gulping, she said, "What did you have in mind?"

"You never asked what other errands I ran while I was away yesterday," he said softly.

"Ok, then, where else did you go yesterday?"

"I visited both your parents' graves and your brother's grave. I wanted to pay my respects…and ask for their blessing."

Her heart now pounding, Molly's eyes again filled with tears as she began to realize what was about to happen. The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly, and upon seeing that, Mycroft got down on one knee. She gave a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak.

Smiling nervously but so adoringly, Mycroft said: "Please, Molly…would you accept me as your husband?"

Molly's vision blurred with hot tears, but she blinked so they rolled down her cheeks and past the beaming smile that had exploded on her face. "Only if you would accept me as your wife, Mycroft!"

His face crumpling in emotional relief, Mycroft lowered his face and pressed his lips to her hands. Molly practically collapsed onto her knees, so they were at eye level now, and continued to smile and even laugh a bit from the happiness of it. When Mycroft finally lifted his head from her hands, he reached into his trouser pocket and revealed a ring. Atop the silver band rested a modest-sized but radiant diamond, surrounded by tiny aquamarines and sapphires.

Molly gasped, tearing up again. "Oh, My..."

"It was my mother's mother's," he said, the hand holding the beautiful ring trembling a bit. "May I?"

Molly immediately held out her left hand, and Mycroft slipped the ring onto the appropriate finger. Just as his mother had predicted, it was a perfect fit. _Just like they were, _he thought.

"Oh, my Molly..." he murmured, overcome with emotion and happiness. Unable to say anymore, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and held her to him. She held him back just as tightly, feeling like she might burst with love under the beautiful sunrise now in full bloom in the east.

* * *

**A/N: **_So yay, Mycroft followed his heart and now they're on their way to being one! BTW, if you haven't seen the adorable picture that Mark Gatiss and Louise Brealey posted of the two of them all bundled up for winter on their Twitter pages, check it out - it's adorable!_


	22. Chapter 22

**Twenty-Two**

A few weeks later, the first week of autumn arrived. That morning, the sky was more clear than cloudy, and the air which hung over the cemetery for fallen soldiers was still retained the warmth of the summer. The peaceful plot of land was deserted, except for one lone figure walking along the straight and narrow rows of modest tombstones. She wore a long beige trench coat, and her stocking-clad shins and modest heels showed that she wore a dress beneath it. Her long auburn hair hung in loose and thick curls behind her back, and in her arms she carried a bouquet of beautiful white lilies.

This woman was Molly Hooper, but it would be the last day that she would be known by this name. And she couldn't be happier about that fact. But before that could happen, there were a few stops that she needed to make.

Molly eventually stopped before one of the tombstones, on which was engraved this name: _Lt. David Richard Hooper. _ The sight was a hard one to face, for it had only been a few months since this headstone had been put up. Molly had not been to this site since her brother had been buried, but she knew that she had to do so before beginning a new – and beautiful – chapter in her life. After laying the lilies gently before the headstone, Molly straightened up and gave the name on the grave a watery smile.

"Hi, D…I'm sorry I haven't come to visit sooner, but I know you understand…But of course I had to see you today of all days. It's my wedding day, after all! Mycroft and I are getting married!"

She gave a watery laugh and wiped her eyes before continuing in a calmer voice:

"I spent yesterday in Northampton, and I visited Mum and Dad. Had a nice long chat with them, and thanked them for everything. You can see that Mycroft and I are not having a long engagement or anything. I know three weeks is pretty short by any standards, but I know you three will understand."

There was a small stone bench under a cherry tree almost directly opposite the tombstone. Molly seated herself on it and, once she'd made herself comfortable, resumed speaking:

"He told me he visited you, Mum and Dad the day before he proposed to me. Wanted your blessing…oh, I love that man so much, and by that and my visit now, you'll see that I said yes! Oh, when we came back to his parents' cottage, they were thrilled to bits! The first thing that they did was hug me, welcome me to the family, and call me their daughter. Even Mycroft got a bit teary-eyed at that!

"Oh, D, his proposal was _so _sweet! There were no grand gestures, no show-off of creativity, or rehearsed verses of poetry. And thank goodness! It was purely him, and that's all that I need! Turns out both of his parents knew that he wanted to propose; he told them because he wanted to make sure he did it appropriately and at the right time for us. You knew it already, but you can see now that he'll take as good care of me as I'll take care of him!"

She stretched out her left hand towards the tombstone, and the little jewels sparkled in the morning sunlight. "Isn't it beautiful? It was his grandmother's. His mother insisted, apparently, and I'm sure I would have liked her because I think it suits me."

The young woman paused for a moment, just gazing at the ring. When she began speaking again, her tone was less bubbly and more serious.

"We have two reasons for not waiting too long, and I think that they are very good reasons. The first is the fact that neither of us want any fuss. You know me: I hate being the center of attention for very long, even for as good a reason as marrying my match. The same is true for Mycroft; just look at his career as the man behind the government – the key word being _behind. _There's no point in having a long engagement when there is no wedding with its endless details and trappings to plan – although I will say that shopping with Rowena was quite fun and we found the perfect dress."

Molly stood up from the bench, unbuttoned her long trench coat, and revealed the outfit she wore underneath.

As she buttoned up her coat again, she resumed: "The ceremony itself is happening in a registrar's office, and will be a quick ceremony. Anthea, Albert and Rowena will serve as our witnesses; afterwards we're taking them out to a nice lunch before seeing them off at King's Cross and then going to our home. I plan on letting my friends know the next time I see each of them in person. Hopefully they'll understand why we wanted to keep things private. Of course we wish Sherlock could be there, but…well, you know now why _really _that's not possible. Mycroft tells me it won't be long until he'll come home, but one never really knows with these things. The last person who should ever be underestimated is Jim from IT, as I learned the hard way…"

Molly paused, took a deep breath, and stepped towards the tombstone again. Her eyes were filled not with tears but true emotion.

"The second reason we're not waiting is the most important: life is too short. Mycroft learned that long before he should have when he lost Rinehart, and that really hit home for me when you…" Molly blinked hard but plowed on resolutely. "We learned in France that it's more natural for us to live together than live apart, and I believed that even more with each day of these past three weeks. We stayed at our own places, but it just felt wrong. Even when one of us had a nightmare and we called each other to get back to sleep…I just wished he were really with me."

She was hugging herself now, but eventually she let her arms drop as her expression filled with hopeful calm.

"I know that any engagement that is this short would raise alarm bells – unless the bride were in the family way, which I'm not, I promise! But neither My nor I care a bit. We want each other, we need each other, and we love each other. I am ready to be his wife as long as we both shall live; I've never been so sure about anything in my life."

She stepped forward until she was able to touch the top of the modest white tombstone with her fingertips.

"I miss you more than words can say, and I always will…The same goes for Mum and Dad…If you three were still here, maybe we would have done something a bit bigger, but as it is…could you do me a favor? I've asked this of Mum and Dad, too. Walk me down the aisle? Of course it's not a church and it'll only be a few steps in the registrar's office…but it would mean the world to me."

A warm and gentle breeze went through the tranquil gravesite, rustling Molly's long tresses. Replacing them behind an ear, Molly smiled and whispered, "Thanks…Love you, D."

She kissed her fingers, touched the tombstone one last time, and stepped back. "Well, I'll be off now. Anthea wants to put together a bridal bouquet for me…need to makes sure it's not _too _extravagant. I'll visit again soon, I promise."

After blowing her brother's tombstone a kiss, Molly walked away towards the cemetery's gates, turning her face towards the warm sun as her heart warmed in love and hope.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes could not recall a morning when he'd chosen a suit to wear with more care than this morning. His father, who'd been there to both help and keep his nerves from running away with him, had laughed and told him that he had a very good reason today. Yes, getting married would do that. He had finally settled on a light gray suit that fit him like a glove, a crisp white shirt, and perfectly polished black shoes. His father had chosen his tie – royal blue with a barely visible textured pattern – and pinned a white rose right onto his front blazer pocket. In that pocket rested one of the handkerchiefs Molly had given him over a year ago, neatly and lovingly folded.

Now, moments before noon, Mycroft stood before the judge, who stood just in front of his desk, in the modest but nicely furnished registrar's office. His parents, dressed in their Sunday best, were seated in a pair of comfortable chairs nearby. He looked at them, and both of them gave him proud looks and loving smiles. He managed to give his own smile back in return, for he could hardly blame them for their excited happiness. Lord knows that they thought this day would never come for one of their sons.

The grandfather clock in the room suddenly began to chime, indicating that noon had arrived. Mycroft's heart began to pound, and his eyes went to the elegant office door. Before the clock had finished chiming, it opened. In walked Anthea with a bounce in her step and an excited smirk on her face. Though she said nothing, the meaning of the look she flashed him was crystal clear: _She's here, and just wait until you see her!_

Once Anthea had taken her place near a corner of the office, Mycroft's gaze immediately went to the slightly opened door. A few seconds passed before the door opened fully. And there stood Molly…his bride.

_My bride…my love…oh, she is so lovely…_

And indeed she was. Her dress was a 50's style cut, with a loose skirt that hung just below her knees and capped sleeves that only just covered her shoulders; it was made out of an ivory satin material that gleamed in the lamplight of the room. As Mycroft took in the details of her appearance, his smile warmed at the little traditional markers she'd been sure to add:

Around her waist was tied a dark blue sash that perfectly matched his tie.

Around her neck was a delicate string of pearls that he recognized as his mother's.

Hanging from her ears were a new pair of teardrop pearl earrings.

And, of course, his grandmother's ring sparkled on her left ring finger.

Add to these four traditions and beautiful dress the facts that she had left her beautiful hair down, her face free of make up, and a true happiness was shining in her warm eyes and lovely smile…Well, Mycroft had a good mind to carry her off right then and there and make her his wife in a more _carnal _way.

But somehow, he managed to stand still, his eyes never leaving her as she closed the door and walked across the office the way she would have walked down an aisle. Her bridal bouquet was modest but lovely, consisting of white roses and daisies – in other words, a bouquet that reflected her perfectly. Anthea approached her when Molly stopped at the desk, and the bride handed off her bouquet to the P.A. – her true maid of honor. The bride then flashed a smile to Albert and Rowena, who beamed right back.

The moment Molly turned and faced Mycroft, her eyes warm and her lips turned upwards, the groom took her hands in his and brought them up to his lips. Overcome with emotion for a moment, he poured that out in the kiss he placed to her knuckles. Then he gathered himself, lowered their joined hands, and returned her smile.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"

The words of the judge were succinct and to the point, not being a minister or priest. Even as he listened to the words while looking into Molly's sparkling eyes, his own thoughts remained dominant in his ears:

_She chose _me_…she loves _me_…she wants to be _my _wife…she truly wants to spend the rest of her life with _me_…_

The love in her eyes confirmed each thought and lifted his heart a little bit more.

"And now for the marriage vows," said the judge, who then turned to Mycroft. "Sir, please repeat after me."

Mycroft nodded before again turning his gaze to Molly, holding her hands securely in his own.

The judge began: "I, Christopher Mycroft Mark Holmes…"

"I, Christopher Mycroft Mark Holmes…" He couldn't remember the last time that he had used his full birth name, either writing it down or speaking it aloud. _I really have a long name._

"…take thee, Molly Alice Hooper…"

"…take thee, Molly Alice Hooper…" Hers was such a simple name in comparison, but just as lovely as she was.

"…to be my lawfully wedded wife."

"…to be my lawfully wedded wife." His heart grew warmer than ever, and he could barely contain his smile. Seeing Molly's lips tremble and her eyes brighten, Mycroft squeezed her hands in reassurance. _Are you having the same thoughts as me? Then hear me, love: I choose you, always._

The judge turned his head to the bride. "Now you, ma'am. Repeat after me. I, Molly Alice Hooper…"

Molly gulped and repeated the words: "I, Molly Alice Hooper…" Her voice was low and steady, but the strong love and overwhelming emotions she had were more than palpable to her groom, the judge, and the witnesses.

"…take thee, Christopher Mycroft Mark Holmes…"

"…take thee, Christopher Mycroft Mark Holmes…" Hearing Molly speak his full name gave him an amazing an unexpected rush of emotions. _She is taking me for all of me, exactly who I am._

"…to be my lawfully wedded husband."

Molly beamed as she finished the vow. "…to be my lawfully wedded husband."

Now it was Mycroft who had to forcefully blink in response to tears filling his eyes.

The judge was smiling now at the pair of them. "And now for the rings," he said before turning around to his desk. From that he picked up a tiny cushion, upon which rested two silver rings. Turning back to the couple, he looked at Mycroft and nodded. Taking his cue, Mycroft picked up the smaller and more delicate of the two. When Mycroft held it in front of Molly's left hand, the judge resumed: "With this ring, I thee wed."

Mycroft slid the ring – which fit her perfectly – onto Molly's left ring finger until it rested atop his grandmother's ring. "With this ring, I thee wed." Then, on an impulse, he kissed that finger just above the rings.

Now Molly's turn, she picked up the silver ring that would rest on his own left ring finger. But this ring was not foreign to Mycroft; in fact, he had worn that ring for over twenty years on his _right _ring finger. When he'd decided to abstain from the distraction of sexual activity, Mycroft had purchased that ring for himself as both a reminder and a rebellion against sentiment by wearing it on the right ring finger as opposed to the left. But now, he was more than willing to become a husband, more specifically Molly's husband, which that ring on that finger useless – it needed to be on the proper finger now.

The judge prompted her: "With this ring, I thee wed."

Molly smiled and spoke again. "With this ring, I thee wed." She then echoed him by lifting up his left hand and kissing that finger above the ring. He had told her the significance of using this particular ring as his wedding ring, and she'd hugged him so tightly that Mycroft was shocked a woman of that size could have such a strong grip. _No surprise there, really, though…she's always been strong._

The judge, still smiling, finally said the words that all in the room had been waiting for: "It therefore gives me great pleasure to pronounce you husband and wife together." He looked at Mycroft and nodded his head towards Molly cheekily. "Go on, give your bride a kiss."

Molly was positively beaming, and she let out a silent but joyful laugh. Mycroft's heart felt so full that he was sure it would burst at any moment, but he didn't give a damn. So, as if the both of them were unconsciously remembering their first kiss, their hands moved of their own accord: Mycroft's hands rose to cup her face, and Molly's hands rose to gently hold his wrists.

Their kiss remained gentle and chaste, but all of the love in their hearts was poured into it. And Mycroft's heart didn't burst – it positively overflowed.

* * *

Of course, the moment the new husband and wife had parted for breath, Albert and Rowena were pulling them into tearful and rib-cracking embraces. Neither fought them; Molly joyed in being part of a family again, and Mycroft was too happy to do anything but reciprocate the hugs and kisses. Anthea, who was shamelessly crying with joy, hung back with her mobile in her hands, her heart full at seeing her good boss and good friend so happy. Before she left to go back to work, she embraced Molly and squeezed Mycroft's hands in true congratulations.

After leaving the judge's office, the two couples were driven to a cozy restaurant for a nice, quiet lunch. Albert and Rowena did most of the talking; Mycroft and Molly were more than content to hold hands under the table and look into each other's eyes dreamily. Thankfully, the older couple didn't stretch out the lunch for very long; they knew what the newlyweds truly wanted now. So, at King's Cross station, Albert and Rowena hugged and kissed their happy children goodbye and traveled home with happiness in their own hearts.

The newlyweds were silent on the car ride back to Mycroft's home, which was now _their _home. Mycroft had his arm wrapped around Molly, who was tucked against his side with her head on his shoulder. Her fingers played with his, often caressing the finger that now wore a wedding band. Mycroft placed frequent kisses to her crown and forehead, for once not giving a damn about the driver. Thankfully, the man was a trusted employee with a wife and family of his own, and he merely smirked to himself. _At least they have the decency to keep their clothes on in the car…unlike me and Debbie…had to walk the rest of the way to the bloody reception…but worth it._

The car finally came to a stop outside one of the many white Victorian townhouse buildings snuggled together on a street block in Pall Mall. Mycroft got out first and held out his hand to Molly like a gentleman. He was beaming, and Molly could feel his excitement roll off him in waves that this moment had come:

He was bringing his wife home.

After he'd tipped his driver and the black car had driven off, Mycroft led her by the hand up the few stone steps to the front door. As he did, Molly looked over her shoulder. Just across the street and a little further down the block was a very familiar building: The Diogenes Club. Molly had only found out that his townhouse had been in such close proximity to the club two weeks ago, and she couldn't help but laugh – not in a malicious way of course, but because, as Mycroft loved to say about coincidences, the universe was rarely so lazy.

Smiling, Molly turned her head forward again as she stepped onto the landing before the front door. Still holding her hand, Mycroft reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a silver house key; he had given Molly her own two weeks ago, when she'd begun the process of moving her things from her flat to his home, and it rested comfortably on her key ring.

Originally, Mycroft had suggested hiring expert movers to bring everything over in one fell swoop the day before the wedding, while she would be in Northampton. Molly adamantly refused, though she knew he was only thinking of saving her a hassle. Molly knew that moving into a new place was not as simple as moving your possessions from one place to another, especially if it meant going from living alone to living together – it was about turning a new leaf, making a new home, stepping into the future with more hope than fear. And Molly was very excited to experience that process.

So nearly every day for the past several weeks, Molly would go from work to her flat, pack up a box or two, and bring them to Mycroft's townhouse. He'd been with her most of these times, unless he was needed at work, reveling in witnessing his home becoming their home. And now, this process was about to become complete.

When the lock clicked, Mycroft removed the key and pushed the door all the way open. When he turned to Molly, he had a joyful and mischievous smile on his face. In the next moment, he had swept Molly up in his arms – bridal style, of course – and carried a giggling Molly across the threshold. She laughed even harder when he kicked the front door shut behind him with his foot, a gesture she never thought she would see him make.

But when he caught her eyes again, her laughter faded. He was looking at her with so much love, relief, joy and emotion. Then, he pressed his face into the crook of her neck – a gesture he often did when he was overcome or overwhelmed – and Molly held onto him tighter, kissing his head. "I'm home," she murmured, her voice cracking. "I have a true home again."

"And so do I," he murmured against her skin, on which she could also feel a few warm drops of moisture. After kissing her neck gently, Mycroft lifted his head up again so he could look at her. Pressing his forehead to hers, he whispered: "Molly Holmes…my wife and my love…"

"You are correct," Molly said, grinning. "My dear husband." She then proceeded to give her husband's mouth a very firm kiss, which he happily received.

When the kiss broke, Mycroft gently set her on her feet and took her hand. "Come, I want to show you my wedding gift to you."

"What? Oh, Mycroft, you shouldn't have," Molly said as he led her through the front hall and the sitting room. "I should have thought of this, but I've been so preoccupied with moving in, I'm sorry, it never even –"

Mycroft shushed her with a kiss just outside of a closed door to a room. "I should really say that it is a gift for the both of us." With a deep breath, he opened the door and led her inside. The room was not small but it was cozy, and everything inside was very familiar, even though Molly had never seen this room before. But even as she recognized the shelves, the desk, the books, the cabinet piano, the chair, the sofa, it was only when Molly saw that there was a fireplace in this room that she realized why this room looked so familiar.

Gasping, she turned to her new husband, not angry but astonished. "My…when did…"

"Yesterday afternoon, while you were in Northampton, I hired the movers I initially suggested," replied Mycroft, who looked a little anxious but momentarily relieved that she was not furious. Taking both of her hands, Mycroft took a breath and explained himself:

"I've told you before that Dr. Ebersole was the person who brought me into the Diogenes Club. Well, when he retired from his position at Oxford, he wanted to be able to spend his free time with his wife and family. He handed that room over to me; it was once his to use as an office and reading place when he traveled to London. While he and his wife moved to London to be close to their children and grandchildren, I made the room my own after Dr. Ebersole had cleared his own things out.

"For years, I've used that room as what it became for you: a sanctuary and a refuge from the chaos of the world. But for a long time, I used it as yet another way to avoid coming here to my supposed home and the sheer loneliness of it and of my life. But then you…" He paused to caress her cheek and look at her adoringly. "You destroyed that, and you saved me from that. Now we are about to start the rest of our life together, and I want to make this a true home for the both of us. I don't want to have a place I can utilize to escape from home every chance I get anymore – that is the _last _thing I want. I want our home to be our sanctuary now, our sanctuary together.

"However, it was that room that brought us together, first as friends and then as more. I felt that you wouldn't want to let that go completely, so I moved it here and tried to make it resemble the original room in every way I could…"

His speech faded when he saw that tears were streaming down Molly's face as she was biting her lips, looking at him with those big brown eyes. Mycroft got very nervous again and wiped the tears away as he started to ramble on to make things right:

"Oh, please don't be upset, I…I knew it would be better to talk about this with you, since it's become just as much your room as mine, but I hoped that you would –"

Now Molly was the one to silence him with a firm kiss. When they broke apart, she said: "The first thing you need to learn as a husband, My, is to recognize which tears are of sorrow and which are of joy. These are the _latter_. Of course I understand, I agree, I'm so happy you thought of it, and I love you _so so much_."

The new husband breathed a huge sigh of relief, wrapped his arms around his new wife, and murmured, "Thank goodness for that, my love" before pressing his mouth to hers in a passionate and joyful kiss.

And if Molly's right foot popped as a result, she didn't know or didn't care.


	23. Chapter 23

**Twenty-Three**

"Molly?" breathed Mycroft when their lips parted for breath, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Yes?" she asked sweetly, her big dark eyes making contact with his piercing light ones.

"Would you…since we're in here…please play the music you wrote for my birthday?"

Molly smiled. "Of course…and then can we have a dance? I don't mind not having a reception or party, but I'd like to have a first dance with my husband."

Grinning, Mycroft kissed the tip of her nose. "As my wife so wishes."

Gently, Molly extricated herself from his hold and walked to the beautiful, hand-carved cabinet piano that Albert had made many years ago. She settled herself on the piano bench, touched the ebony and ivory keys reverently, and then effortlessly began to play the music that had become nearest and dearest to both of their hearts. She felt Mycroft's gaze on her throughout the entire piece, but didn't feel nervous at all for she knew he was looking at her with love and not judgment. When she finished, Molly turned on the bench to face him.

Mycroft, who had seated himself in his favorite chair, was smiling as he took out his mobile phone and spent a moment on it. As he set it down on the coffee table, a slow jazz tune began to pour from it. He stood up and walked to Molly, and as he held out his hand to her, Frank Sinatra's voice joined in the music. The song being sung was a very familiar tune to Molly, for it was the song her parents had loved so much.

Tears filling her eyes, Molly put her hand in Mycroft's and stood up. After he'd led her to the center of the room, she buried her face in his chest as their arms wrapped around each other and their bodies began to sway in time to the song:

_I have dreamed that your arms are lovely._

_I have dreamed what a joy you'll be._

_I have dreamed every word you'll whisper_

_When you're close…close to me._

_How you look in the glow of evening,_

_I have dreamed and enjoyed the view._

_In these dreams, I've loved you so_

_That by now I think I know_

_What it's like to be loved by you._

_I will love being loved by you…_

By the time the song went into an orchestral break, the newlyweds were lost in their own world as they slowly danced. It wasn't even so much dancing as swaying slowly to the music. Heads resting together, inhaling their partner's scent, feeling their hearts beating...

When Ol' Blue Eyes sang again to the end of the song in a glorious crescendo, Molly and Mycroft had learned the meaning of the word "bliss."

_In these dreams, I've loved you so_

_That by now I think I know_

_What it's like to be loved by you…_

_I will love being loved by you._

By the time the song had ended and the music had faded, the couple had stopped dancing but were holding onto each other even more tightly. With her head still resting comfortably over his heart, Mycroft let his lips brush along her cheek before he murmured in her ear:

"Nothing will happen now or later that you do not want or are not yet ready for, my love."

Her eyes opened as a sweet smile lit up her face. Biting her bottom lip unconsciously, she breathed: "I know…and I believe I _am_ ready, My." She then lifted her face and gently laid a kiss on his neck, just below his pulse point.

Mycroft shuddered as his new wife continued to place sweet kisses along his throat and jaw; his heart was pounding so hard he felt sure that a couple of his ribs would fracture. When he couldn't stand still anymore, he lowered his head and captured her lips for a deep kiss. She gasped into his mouth when he pressed her body flush against his, and moaned when she felt something quite firm against her stomach. Her small fingers sank into his hair when he retaliated his own assault upon her jawline and neck. Because of their height difference, Mycroft had to bend himself a bit to enjoy this bounty, but he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Then, just as the fingers of his right hand closed around the tiny zipper of her dress, the last sound that either of them wanted to hear froze them in place: Mycroft's mobile phone. Molly sighed to the ceiling, but laughed throatily when she felt Mycroft growl against her collarbone. She lifted his face with her hands and gave him a brave smile.

"Go on and take it. I'm not going anywhere, and we have all the time in the world."

Still annoyed but glad of her words, Mycroft gave her neck one last playful nibble – causing her to screech like a bird – before releasing her and pulling the device from his inner jacket pocket. One look at the caller ID changed his expression to frustrated annoyance to completely alert. He lifted his eyes to Molly's as he raised the mobile to his ear, saying: "This is Holmes."

Nodding in understanding, Molly squeezed his hand and left the room, knowing that Mycroft needed to focus all of his attention on this call now, for the look he gave her told her that it was of the highest importance. So Molly, needing to distract herself from the terrible possibilities that the call could mean, made her way upstairs to the master bedroom they would share.

With great care and reverence, Molly removed her jewelry (except her rings) and her wedding dress. After putting and hanging them away, Molly changed into a long Irish sweater and black leggings. She had no idea how long Mycroft would be on the phone, or if he would have to go into the office, so she decided to make herself comfortable.

Molly did not have to wait long. As she finished putting on her favorite pair of lounging socks (light pink with yellow kittens), the bedroom door opened to reveal Mycroft. She began to smile at him, but it disappeared when she saw the look on his face. This was a definition of a man truly torn, lost in a whirlwind of emotions – none of which were good.

"My, what is it?" She rushed to her husband, now feeling quite afraid. She had not seen Mycroft look so vulnerable or frightened since he had come home from Indonesia after David had passed. She cupped his cheek and laid her other hand over his heart; it was pounding stronger than a drum. "What's happened?"

Mycroft's arms wrapped around his wife, and his forehead rested against hers. He took a deep breath and a deep gulp before he spoke in a quiet but charged voice:

"It's Sherlock…he needs my help…"

Molly's breath caught in her throat as she realized what exactly he was saying, but she swallowed and spoke the horrible truth of the situation: "You need to go."

Mycroft winced and closed his eyes tightly. "Within the hour…and it won't be a short trip."

Molly's eyes widened, but she kept her voice level and calm somehow. "For how long, then?"

Mycroft shook his head, holding her a little more tightly, as if bracing himself for a terrible blow. "At least a few weeks…maybe longer…"

In that moment, seeing the anguish on Mycroft's face, Molly knew that she had to be strong for him, for the both of them. So, in one moment, she used all of her strength to set aside her own turmoil of emotions that had just been born and give her expression a determined, loving look. "Then let's get you packed."

* * *

Within a half an hour, Anthea came with a car to take Mycroft to a private airstrip, where a jet was prepared to fly him to Budapest, since Hungary shared a border with Serbia and Mycroft had the most connections there. During that time, as Molly helped him pack, he explained the situation as best as he could.

"He called me from the burn phone he's using this month; he would only make a call if it was of critical importance. He believes he's found the last piece of the crime web in a Serbian crime family. My surveillance and data support this, but this last piece is too big and too important to make any mistakes. I need to be close by to assist when he needs it…that may mean doing some legwork myself…"

He'd shuddered at that last comment, and Molly would have laughed under other circumstances. Now, however, she was just trying to keep her emotions under complete control and put on a brave face for her husband. The last thing he needed was to feel even worse about the timing of this whole situation.

The couple knew that Mycroft's car had arrived when both received a text from Anthea, stating that the car had arrived and that she would gladly give them a few minutes. Both walked into the front hall and faced each other.

Wanting to put off the inevitable and terrible good-bye, Molly said, "I know the less I know about where you're staying and what you'll be doing, the better, so I won't ask. But…I'll hear from you, right? Even if it's just an occasional text –"

"Shh," Mycroft soothed, kissing her forehead. "I won't be hiding in a bunker or incognito like my brother. The best thing about the work I do is that over ninety percent of it I am able to do anywhere in the world. So while I'll be a discreet presence, I will not be an invisible one as though I were a criminal. Of course I'll keep in touch every day. At the very least, I will call you every evening when I know you'll be going to bed."

Molly sighed in some relief at that, glad in the knowledge that she'd at least be able to sleep while he would be gone. Feeling the tumultuous emotions that she was trying to tame come dangerously close to the surface, Molly hid her face in his chest and held him tightly. "I wish I could go with you," she breathed so quietly that she hoped he wouldn't hear her.

But he did, and he kissed her head. He could see how brave she was being for him, and he loved her all the more for it. _You are so strong, my love._ Holding her just as tightly, he whispered, "Knowing that you are here, that you are safe, and that you will be here when I come home…gives me more strength than can be measured. And never doubt this for a moment, my Molly: I _will _come home."

"Oh, I know you will," said Molly. "There's no doubt in my mind that you'll come home." Her eyes suddenly lit up with inspiration. "Shall I show you how sure I am?"

With that, Molly was out of the front hall and running up the stairs. Before Mycroft could come to his own conclusions, Molly was rushing back down the stairs, a delicate silver chain in her hands. Looking at it, Mycroft deduced it was the chain of the necklace Molly often wore with the pendant of a microscope she'd gotten for her 21st birthday from her father. But the microscope pendant wasn't hanging from the chain anymore.

Standing before him again, Molly shocked him by slipping off her engagement and wedding rings and carefully looping them onto the chain. She then held out her hand to him. Understanding her intent and completely touched, Mycroft didn't hesitate to slip off his own ring and loop it onto the chain as well.

Taking the chain from her, he said, "Allow me." She turned and lifted her hair from her neck while he put the necklace on her. Once he'd successfully hooked the chain, she turned around to face him again. "You once told me that you having a beard would scare the pants off of people you work with. I imagine a wedding ring would have much the same effect?"

Mycroft nodded, proud of her for pointing this out before him, though his finger felt bare and cold already. He then watched her tuck the newly-made necklace under the collar of her sweater. "I'll keep them safe for us until you come home, and we can become man and wife in every way." She took his hands in hers, and spoke quietly but in a tone that was rich with emotion. "You couldn't save Rinehart, and I couldn't save David. But we _can _save Sherlock, and we will. I love you so much, and I'll be right here waiting when this nightmare is over for good. Now go bring your baby brother home."

And Mycroft said 'I love you' with all of his heart in the emotional look and the lingering kiss that he gave her. Then, summoning all of his strength, Mycroft picked up his luggage and walked to the front door. Molly opened it for him silently, and watched him walk down the front steps. His driver put his luggage in the trunk as Mycroft slipped into the car.

He didn't look back at her, but Molly felt his gaze on her once the car door had closed, even through the tinted window. In response, Molly put a hand over her heart, and kept her eyes on the car window until the car itself was around the corner and out of sight.

Only then did she go back inside her new home. And once the door was closed, Molly let free all of the emotions she'd been holding back by the skin of her teeth. She barely managed to make it into their Diogenes Room, and she collapsed onto his favorite armchair, sobbing without restraint.

Though she knew he would come back, that Sherlock would come back with him, that the past two years of dark secrecy would very soon be over, and that quite a few of her friends would be a lot happier because of it, that didn't change three terrible facts:

This would be the longest that they would be apart since they had become friends two years ago, she would miss her beloved husband _terribly,_ andSherlock really did have the most _terrible _timing in the world!

* * *

About an hour later, the doorbell rang. Molly, who was in the kitchen boiling water for tea, gave a little jump of surprise. Who in the world could that be? Wiping her face as best she could – and glad that she had not changed into that ratty pair of pajamas she always wore whenever she felt really blue and sorry for yourself – Molly hurried to the door.

When she opened it, there stood Anthea. She had an overnight bag in one hand and a grocery bag from Tesco's in the other.

"I know it's not the way you planned to spend tonight, but the last thing you need is to spend tonight alone, so I've invited myself for a sleepover. I've got ice cream – cookie dough and rocky road – and my contact at ITV slipped me a copy of the entire new season of _Downton Abbey_, including the Christmas Special."

And with that, Molly started sobbing again and threw her arms around her best friend in a tight and grateful hug. Anthea returned it right back, determined to help her dearest friend through another difficult time.


	24. Chapter 24

**Twenty-Four**

The first six weeks of married life for Mycroft and Molly Holmes were the longest weeks of their lives, and that had everything to do with the fact that they were apart and missed each other terribly. Yes, they spoke to each other at least once a day, but for a couple in love – especially newlyweds – it wasn't nearly enough. The knowledge that it was all for the best of causes only made it bearable as opposed to unbearable.

The last week, however, had come the closest to unbearable as it could get. During that week, Mycroft had been undercover within the Serbian crime ring that Sherlock was working to bring down. This meant that he'd had to cut off all contact with Molly. In their last phone call, his brave wife had told him to do what he had to do to save his baby brother and to come home to her. Those words had imprinted on his heart, and now, a week later, those words had come to fruition.

* * *

The Holmes brothers landed on British soil on a clear-skied November afternoon, which was nothing short of a paradox in the British Isles. Safe in the privacy of Mycroft's office, Sherlock was cleaned up and dressed in his own clothes again. And, of course, the brothers bickered all throughout the conversation that they had.

In short, their relationship was still intact and they were both thrilled beyond measure to be home.

Anthea popped in and out of Mycroft's office while they were there, usually to bring in various cleaning supplies and clothing for Sherlock. The brothers talked of Sherlock's ultimately successful two-year mission, the consequences of surprising John Watson after two years of silence, and the new terrorist threat that had the government shaking in its shoes. It had come to light a week ago, which is why Mycroft had gone undercover in order to help Sherlock end his mission more quickly: it would take both Holmes brothers to save England from this new threat.

While Sherlock transformed from filthy, long-haired refuge to his usual crisp and posh self, Mycroft looked as pressed and polished as ever. In fact, he was wearing the exact same suit and tie that he'd worn when he and Molly married. And Anthea knew that it was no coincidence that he had chosen to wear it today. While she kept her expression neutral, her eyes sparkled in a happy smile.

Sherlock practically strutted out of Mycroft's office after Anthea brought him his beloved Belstaff coat. Both Mycroft and Anthea watched the security footage on her mobile until they saw that he had left the building and disappeared down the street.

The moment he was gone, Mycroft turned to Anthea with an entirely new expression on his face. Gone was the aloof and annoyed big brother – there stood before Anthea a husband who wanted more than anything to see his beloved bride. "How is she? How is Molly?" he asked, his tone soft but eager.

Anthea really smiled now. "She's staying strong, but she misses you as much as you miss her."

"And did you inform her that we've returned?"

Anthea shook her head. "No, not even a hint, as per your request. I suppose that means that you want to surprise her?"

The knowing smirk on his P.A.'s face caused Mycroft to avert his eyes and clear his throat. "Yes, Anthea, and that is all I will say on the subject." He looked at her again, more composed now. "I know that she likes to use her free Monday evenings to catch up on paperwork if she's fallen behind. Is she at St. Bart's?"

Anthea nodded. "When is your meeting with the Prime Minister and his team?"

Mycroft checked his golden pocket watch and sighed. "Twenty minutes. Thankfully, it shouldn't take more than a half an hour and judging by when Molly usually goes in on Monday evenings…I should be home at least an hour before her, which will give me the time I need to unpack, clean up, and…prepare for her return." He averted his eyes again as he closed and pocketed his watch again.

Anthea bit back another smirk, knowing her boss was already holding in a lot of nervous energy and excitement; adding fuel to the fire would only dampen Molly's upcoming joy. "I'll notify you when she's on her way home. Shall I pick her up? I promise I won't spoil the surprise."

Mycroft nodded. "I would greatly appreciate that, Anthea."

"And I'll keep a close eye on Sherlock's movements tonight. I hardly think that his reunion with John Watson will go the way he believes it will."

Mycroft chuckled. "I would be surprised if the way he realizes that will be with a bruised jaw or a broken nose. Or both. Notify me if anything serious happens, but beyond that don't bother. The last thing I want to think about tonight is my baby brother."

Anthea chuckled. "Absolutely. So make sure you're not late for your meeting with the Prime Minister, and then you give my best friend the wedding night she deserves. I'll keep you updated."

She left the room with a smile on her face before Mycroft could say anything. He was far from embarrassed or indignant, however. He was smiling, knowing that soon he would have Molly in his arms again.

* * *

Molly had learned soon after falling into the routine of a pathologist the difference between a "good tired" and a "bad tired." She always felt "good tired" after a day of performing autopsies and conducting tests, which were what most of her work days consisted of, thankfully. But she did have some days which needed to be focused on the necessary and tedious mountains of paperwork that always accompanied each body that she processed. Those were the days in which she left the hospital "bad tired." Her father had once told her that all hard work will leave you feeling tired, but when you've done something you loved – even if it's slicing up cadavers – it's one of the best feelings of the world.

Tonight, unfortunately, Molly felt "bad tired" after a long shift that had consisted of nothing but paperwork. Her back was sore and her neck was stiff from sitting hunched over her desk for hours. If she hadn't taken something for it an hour ago, her head would be pounding right about now. Thankfully, though, this "bad tired" feeling would ebb away once Molly returned home, had a good long soak in the tub, and settled in the Diogenes room with a book.

Of course, if Mycroft were home, she wouldn't even feel "bad tired" at all, just knowing that she was going home to him. But she wasn't, and every day it got harder and harder. This last week had been particularly excruciating, with no contact between them. Of course she understood why it had to be this way, and Anthea was the very essence of confidence and reassurance. On top of those two reasons, Mycroft had given her his promise that he would come home. Just that reason was enough to keep her from going insane. But she certainly wasn't having a picnic, either!

As she turned from the corridor and walked into the locker room, she rubbed her sore neck and sighed. Perhaps tonight the silence would be broken and she would hear Mycroft's voice again. This silence couldn't go on for much longer…

And when Molly opened the door to her locker and looked in her small mirror, all thoughts of fatigue vanished in an instant.

Either she had completely lost her mind…or Sherlock Holmes was standing behind her and smiling his small smile through his reflection in the mirror.

She gasped and turned around. There he was! She wasn't hallucinating, she just knew it. She was tired, but not _that _tired! There he stood in his usual straight-backed stance, with his hands behind his back and wearing his beloved Belstaff coat! Seeing that he had a cut lip and traces of a bloody nose destroyed any lingering fears that she was dreaming.

"Sh…Sherlock?" she breathed, after the corners of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile.

"Hello, Molly Hooper," he replied in his familiar deep voice.

_It's Molly Holmes now, _she thought, and her hand flew up and pressed against her chest. She felt the rings around her neck, hidden beneath her blouse, press to the skin just below her collarbone. _So he didn't know. He must not, or else he would already be grilling me about how I could let myself be brainwashed by his evil big brother…Mycroft! This means that my husband is home, too!_

Molly closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she organized her thoughts. _Okay, Molly, calm down. If Mycroft hasn't told Sherlock yet, it's not my place to tell him now. So, make sure Sherlock's ok and then get to Mycroft!_

So, Molly opened her eyes again and dropped her hand. "So…" she started, her voice still breathless from the shock and the exhilaration rising inside her. "It's…it's over? You're back…for good?"

Sherlock nodded, and she could see that he was happy about that in the way his shoulders relaxed at her words. Of course he would be! London was his true home, his natural environment, and he had been away from those who loved him for much too long.

Which reminded her: "Have you seen everyone? Do they know that…well, that you're –"

"Not dead?" he deadpanned. "I've just come from telling John that. I'd thought it was a very good and funny way of doing so..." His voice drifted and he unconsciously rubbed his nose. "Apparently I miscalculated…and have you heard that he's engaged?"

Molly gasped, momentarily distracted. "Oh, did he propose to Mary? That's so wonderful!" In the past six weeks, she'd met up with John and Mary a few times, and it was easy to see how perfect they were for each other. They adored each other, and Mary had brought a new light and happiness to John's life that he'd not only needed but deserved.

Sherlock looked up at the ceiling, trying to appear nonchalant, but he was clearly uncomfortable in Molly's eyes. "Well…he almost did."

Molly groaned and slapped her forehead. "Oh, Sherlock, you _didn't!_ Ugh, you're lucky you're not on your way to the hospital, the poor man!" She sighed. "Well, I honestly didn't expect him to react any differently, and he's certainly going to need some time to process all of this. What about the others?"

Sherlock looked back down at this, blinking hard to try to disguise how much her words frightened him. "I haven't seen Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade yet, but I will tonight. I'd much rather be back in Baker Street tonight than a bolt hole or having my prat of a big brother put me up." He shuddered.

But at the mention of her husband – and Sherlock's unconscious implication that he too was back in the country – Molly's face broke into a huge grin. She then ran straight to Sherlock and grabbed him in a _very _tight hug.

"Ah, Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed, thoroughly shocked by her behavior, and especially because she was gripping him so tightly that he couldn't even lift his arms.

"Oh, I'm so happy that you're home and this nightmare is over, Sherlock!" she exclaimed. She then kissed his cheek and released him. He looked greatly relieved by this, and still quite shocked as he rubbed his biceps. Molly made to run out of the locker room, but she did a sharp pivot around as she screeched, "Oh, my purse!"

As she ran back to her locker and retrieved said item, Sherlock seemed to find his voice again. "Molly, what – what is wrong with you?"

The pathologist had to laugh at this phrasing from him. He'd probably never seen her trying to get away from him this fast or be his happy about it! At the doorway of the locker room, she managed to stop and look at him.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I really need to get home and sleep with my husband!"

And with that, she was gone, leaving an absolutely gob-smacked consulting detective standing in the women's locker room.

* * *

Molly thought that she had never run so fast in her life as she made her way out of St. Bart's Hospital. Lord, she hadn't meant to say that to him, she'd just been so happy and nervy and it had just spilled out of her mouth! Now, the last thing she wanted was for Sherlock to follow her in order to learn just exactly who she had married. She would not let her little slip of the tongue interrupt her long-delayed wedding night!

When she practically burst through the front doors of the hospital, she could have wept in relief when she saw the black government car parked right in front of her. She ran towards it, flung open the door, and flopped inside pretty ungracefully. The car door was barely closed when it pulled away from the curb and down the street.

Turning in her seat, she found that it was Anthea in the back seat with her, and she was grinning. Looking at each other, both women gave joyous laughs and fell into an embrace. When they broke apart, Molly said, "Where is he? Where's my husband?"

"He's home, waiting for you," Anthea said. "Finished a meeting with the Prime Minister over an hour ago, and I'll make sure he doesn't get any work-related calls tonight. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, but Mycroft wanted it to be a surprise as a way to make up for the last week. But I see that Sherlock beat him to the punch."

Molly gave a breathy laugh. "Yeah, he surprised me in the locker room. And after he unwittingly confirmed that Mycroft was also back home and well, I sort of ran out after letting my tongue slip a bit."

Anthea raised a questioning eyebrow, Molly blushed tomato-red and told Anthea what had happened. Soon, both women were in absolute stitches and it took them some minutes to calm down.

"Oh, to have seen the look on his face!" said Anthea, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "I'm sure it was absolutely priceless!"

"I ran out of there so quickly that I didn't get a good look, unfortunately," said Molly, wiping away tears of her own before becoming serious again. "I don't want him to try and follow me or find me tonight. Mycroft obviously doesn't want him to know yet, and it's been so long and tonight I just want to –"

"Shh, I completely understand," interrupted Anthea, pulling out her state-of-the-art mobile and began rapidly tapping away at it. After a minute, she smiled and said to Molly, "He's already placed a decoy call to Lestrade and is on his way to meet him again. After that, he'll want to go straight to Baker Street to reunite with Mrs. Hudson and settle into his home again. Besides, Molly," she smirked at her best friend, "the last person that Sherlock would ever suspect to be your husband – let alone marry anybody at all – is Mycroft."

Molly giggled. "And it helps that the last person that Sherlock would voluntarily seek out is his big brother."

"That's very true," said Anthea. She then took Molly's hand. "How are you feeling?"

Molly smiled at her friend's compassion. "Happy, anxious, relieved, nervous…a lot of things. I'm actually glad that Sherlock found me first. If I'd come home without a clue, I just may have fainted on the spot at the sight of Mycroft."

Anthea laughed. "Which is why I persuaded Mycroft to not stop Sherlock when we found out he was heading to St. Bart's to see you after seeing John."

"I really appreciate that," said Molly. She looked down at herself and groaned at the sight of her baggy pants, floral blouse, and white doctor's coat (which she'd completely forgotten to take off in the locker room for good reason!). "Ugh, this is _not _what I pictured myself wearing when I reunited with my husband! At least I didn't have any autopsies today and don't smell like death."

"Small mercies," Anthea nodded, squeezing her hand. "And as for your clothes, just remember two things: Mycroft believes that you are lovely no matter your clothes, and tonight he'll be much more interested in taking them off than keeping them on."

Molly blushed at Anthea's words and accompanying smirk, and tried to cool her face by fanning it with her free hand.

At that moment, the car pulled up alongside her home – where she knew her husband was right now, waiting for her…waiting to be with her in every way. Her heart filled and her stomach fluttered. Her attention went back to Anthea when the woman squeezed her hand again. She was no longer smirking but smiling.

"Don't worry about anything tonight, Molls," she said warmly. "I'll make sure you two will have nothing to think about but each other."

Molly smiled and her eyes watered. Taking Anthea's other hand in hers, she said, "Anthea…there's no way I can thank you for the past weeks. You've been my rock and…there's no way I would have made it through in one piece without you."

The P.A. got teary-eyed herself and said, "It's I who should be thanking you, Molly. My boss is not the only one that you saved from a truly solitary life that consisted only of work. He got the love of his life, and I got a true friend for life."

The women hugged again; Anthea was the first to break away with a grin. "Now go on in! He's waiting for you!"

Molly smiled so brightly she practically glowed, and left the car with one last squeeze of Anthea's hand. Once Molly was inside her home, Anthea signaled for the driver to take her to the office. Still grinning and focusing her attention on her mobile again, Anthea had no qualms or complaints about working an all-nighter tonight. She would definitely come out of it a very "good tired," knowing that the two most important people in her life were together and truly happy again.

* * *

**A/N: **_Sorry about the long wait, guys! A not-quite Sherlolly story begged to be written, and I wanted a wait between the last chapter and this one to reflect the separation between our lovers. Fair warning: the next chapter will bring the story up to an M-rating, but I'll make sure to have lines indicating and separating those sections in case anyone isn't comfortable with that. _


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** _Hey readers! If I've been a while, it's because writing smut well is really hard to do! There's been a lot of build-up and I really hope I don't disappoint. The rating has changed accordingly to "M". To anybody not comfortable reading smut, there is a section break before it gets naughty. And never fear, you won't miss any plot – this chapter is all about reunion and their coming together (in more ways than one)._

_Also, a little tip: to anybody who might have a hard time seeing Mycroft in this light, look this up on Youtube: _The Crimson Petal and the White – "The Flames of Passion." _It's basically Mark Gatiss shirtless and doing a pretty hot scene._

* * *

**Twenty-Five**

When Molly opened the front door of her home, only a few lights were on, and all were on a dim setting. It was enough to illuminate a trail of rose petals on the floor that began a few feet from the front door. Molly's heart began to pound. Still keeping silent but feeling as though she might burst any second, she slipped off her white lab coat and hung it on the coat stand. When she saw Mycroft's own coat and umbrella hanging neatly on one of the pegs, her eyes watered. She clutched the coat and buried her face in it for a moment before pulling herself together. She was about to smell the real thing, anyway!

So, after slipping off her shoes and socks, Molly followed the trail of rose petals with a measured step. Though the lighting was dim, she could see that the colors of the petals changed the further she followed them. She had learned as a hormonal teenager the meanings of each rose color, and she knew that Mycroft knew that, so her heart got bigger and bigger as she interpreted each color she saw.

It was a road map of their relationship.

The first petals were pink, both light and dark; these represented sympathy, admiration, gratitude and gentleness – the beginning of them truly seeing and getting to know each other.

Then came yellow petals, the color of true friendship and joy; their friendship had certainly brought joy and light to a very dark time.

Molly paused for a moment when she saw that a few of the yellow petals had red tips – those roses represented friendship turning into love. She smiled and continued following the petals.

Third came orange rose petals, and Molly blushed since they represented enthusiasm and desire. That beautiful new year's night, when a kiss had shifted their relationship from platonic to romantic…his birthday, when their desire had first gone beyond mere sparks…

The color then sobered into peach, which indicated "closing the deal" and "let's get together." How their relationship had deepened and truly become a soul connection after her brother's death, in that cottage by the sea…and when he had proposed to her when visiting his parents, on the hill where he and his twin loved to play…

The fifth color that came to the rose petals was white, and that wouldn't be a mystery to anybody. Like the white roses in her bouquet and the color of her dress…white roses meant bride and matrimony any day of the week. And oh, what a glorious day that had been!

The rose petal trail ended just outside the door of the Diogenes room, as she had come to call it. But the rose petal trail did not end in white petals – the last color they held were red. No mysteries about that meaning, either.

Her heart pounding harder than ever, Molly pressed her hand to the wall and tried to catch her breath. God, her cheeks felt as though they were on fire! Then Molly looked down at the bottom of the door. There was light coming through the crack, a warm and flickering light. Which meant that Mycroft had lit a fire in the grate…Mycroft was waiting for her…Her _husband _was home and waiting for her.

With joy overflowing in her soul, Molly silently opened the door and looked inside.

A merry fire was indeed roaring in the grate, and in front of the fireplace, a sumptuous arrangement of pillows, cushions and blankets had been arranged, large enough for two. And sitting in his favorite chair was her husband – and he had dozed off waiting for her.

Molly had to bite back a giggle along with a joyful exclamation at seeing him again. She really couldn't be angry that he'd nodded off. She couldn't imagine that today, let alone this last week spent undercover, had been restful. Add jetlag and his age to the equation and of course he'd be tired! Seeing that he wasn't wearing a jacket, tie, waistcoat or shoes, Molly looked around and found those items neatly folded on the sofa.

Looking back at her dozing husband, the young wife then realized what that could mean for tonight, but her disappointment only lasted for a few moments. Bottom line: he was home, she would sleep in his arms tonight, and they had the rest of their lives ahead of them together. That was what truly mattered.

So, Molly silently closed the door of the room and tiptoed over to him. Bending over, Molly stroked his cheek and he stirred. Smiling, she kissed his nose, which made him fully wake up. When Mycroft's vision cleared of sleep and his gaze found hers, his eyes widened at the sight of her smiling face.

Her smile turned into an undignified squeal when, in the next second, he had pulled her down onto the chair with him, so that she straddled his lap. He held Molly to him tightly and pressed his face against her neck; Molly's arms wrapped around his shoulders just as tightly, her lips pressing kisses to his head and neck. When the need to see his face became too strong, Molly ceased her kisses and cupped his face, bringing it up from her neck. "Welcome home, husband," she said softly, sweetly, with a full heart.

Mycroft didn't say anything and his hold around her did not loosen. Instead he kissed her, hard on the mouth in near desperation. Molly reciprocated without hesitation, her fingers raking through his hair as their kisses deepened. The snogging session that followed was very steamy indeed, even steamier than the one they'd engaged in on Mycroft's birthday, and lasted quite a while. It was Mycroft who broke away first, and when Molly caught her breath again, she realized why.

Her husband's hands had ended up between them, his fingers having found the rings around her neck after unconsciously finishing off the top buttons of her blouse. Their wedding rings. Smiling again, Molly reached behind her neck and undid the delicate clasp and then carefully dropped the rings into her husband's now upturned right hand.

Almost reverently, Mycroft picked out his own ring and held it up to her. She took it and slipped it back onto his left ring finger, right where it belonged. She then held out her own left hand to Mycroft, and onto her own left ring finger he carefully slipped back on first her wedding band and then her engagement ring. Both instantly felt a relief settle over their hearts.

Caressing his face, Molly asked softly, "You're alright, My?"

Her husband smiled and kissed her again, more gently than before. "I am completely alright, my love. It's been a long day, a longer week, and an everlasting five weeks before that…but I can guarantee you that right now, at this moment, I have never been better. And no," he practically growled, pressing her down on his lap a bit more firmly so that she could really feel the very solid evidence of his arousal, "I don't feel at all tired anymore."

His hands came up again, and his fingers resumed their work undoing the buttons of her blouse. Molly whimpered and offered no resistance or objection. The both of them had waited much too long for this, and both of them were determined to savor and enjoy every moment of it…

* * *

Mycroft soon finished undoing the buttons down the front of Molly's long-sleeved blouse. But before he could remove it, she held up her wrists, showing him that the ends of the sleeves were held together by buttons. "You missed a few," she said sweetly.

Smiling in return, Mycroft set to work on her wrists. "Such tiny buttons here must be tricky, no?" he asked innocently, but the gleam in his eyes was delightfully wicked.

Molly bit back her giggles and teased him right back: "Well, in my line of work, I need to be exceptionally skilled with my fingers."

"Oh, I've no doubt of that, my dear." He finished undoing both of the wrist buttons of her long-sleeved blouse, and finally slid the garment off of her torso. Molly bit her lip as his eyes hungrily drank in the sight before his eyes, her bra the only piece of clothing on her upper body now. Feeling herself blush from her cheeks to her chest, Molly internally reprimanded herself for suddenly feeling shy when she had no reason to be. Mycroft intuitively sensed her thought process, and cupped her face in his hands. "I'm not going anywhere," he breathed, "not when the most beautiful being in existence chose me."

Molly's first impulse was to smirk and call him a sweet-talker, but she was too moved and emotion choked in her throat. So she took his hands from her face, kissed them, and them brought them around her back so they rested over the clasp of her bra. Though she didn't say it aloud, the look in her eyes told him that this action was not easy for her. Her breasts had always been the part of her body that she'd had the least amount of confidence in on account of the size; this insecurity had existed long before her new brother-in-law so bluntly pointed out their rather small nature. She'd never spoken this insecurity aloud to her husband, but her body language this evening told him everything that he needed to know.

So, Mycroft kept eye contact with her as he removed the simple nude bra from her torso and tossed it in the same direction he'd tossed her blouse. He then brought her closer to kiss her again before he brought his hands back around to her front. She whimpered and groaned into his mouth as his hands found her breasts, massaging and rubbing them in all the right ways. Then his mouth left hers and traveled down her neck and chest to where his hands already were, and she had nothing to muffle the sounds of her pleasure-filled moans. But what her husband was doing was rapidly destroying her natural modesty, and thank goodness for that!

Her own fingers raked through his hair again before descending down. When her fingers brushed along the soft skin below his ears, Mycroft's entire body shudder and she felt more than heard him groan against her right breast. She stored this piece of information inside her mind with a smirk, and then let her hands lower along his neck, but then her hands came into contact with the white button-up shirt that he was still wearing.

Pursing her lips, Molly lifted Mycroft's head from her chest. He looked a little miffed at being interrupted, and she smiled at that. Tugging on his shirt collar, she purred, "Let's even things out a bit, shall we?"

Mycroft, having regained his breath, chuckled and held out his own wrists to her. "What are you waiting for? Let's see how those skilled fingers do with cufflinks."

Molly laughed and started her task. With Mycroft's guidance, she managed to remove the two delicate pins from his cuffs quite quickly, and carefully placed them on the small table beside his chair. Then Molly undid each of the buttons down his front as Mycroft unbraided her long hair. When Molly had finished the task and made to take off the shirt, Mycroft stopped her. "That may be tricky considering how we are seated," he said, indicating how she was straddling him as he sat back in his chair.

"Ah, of course," she said. "Then let's move to the more comfortable spot that you made for us. Which is lovely, by the way."

"I'm very glad you think so," said Mycroft.

The two then got up from his chair and walked hand-in-hand towards the luxurious spread that Mycroft had made before the fireplace. Once they were both seated and facing each other, Molly slid Mycroft's shirt off his torso. He silently chuckled as she carefully folded it and placed it as far as she could to the side. Blushing a bit, she softly explained, "Your clothes are so nice, I don't want to just discard them."

"This is why dry cleaning exists, my love," Mycroft replied, and they both laughed softly.

After their amusement had calmed, Molly reached out her hands to him, and his own hands rested on her naked hips, his thumbs stroking her skin. Her own hands fell on his shoulders. Even in the firelight, she could see that the pale skin of his shoulders and arms was covered in light freckles. Following her hands with her eyes, Molly drank in the sight of his chest, which she'd never gotten a good look at before. He was by no means a muscle man, but he was in good shape thanks to his regular jogging routine three times a week. The sight of his generous amout of chest hair was making Molly feel even hotter than she'd been before.

When her hands came to rest over his heart, she felt it pounding just as strongly as her own. Feeling this, all of the emotions in her heart spilled over, and she leaned forward so she could wrap her arms around him. Now nothing separated them but skin, a level of intimacy they hadn't reached before…and it felt completely natural. "I've missed you so much," she breathed, the words just pouring out against the skin of his neck. "So, so much…"

His own arms came around her just as tightly, and he breathed in the scent of her hair. "And I you…each day away from you was excrutiating, and the nights were even worse." His voice was so low she felt it more than heard it. "All I could think of was you, being with you, ravishing you…whether wide awake or dreaming…you consumed me."

His skin was so warm, and she knew it wasn't only from the warmth of the fire. "Oh, My…"

Words stopped after that, and their lips met again with more passion than ever before. Soon every other piece of their clothing had found their way – not so neatly – into a pile near the coffee table, and the two of them were lying back on the cushions and blankets. Lying on her back, Molly shut her eyes and gave herself to the sensations that her husband was giving her as his hands and mouth made their way down her body. _Oh_, he knew just how to touch her, in all of the right places…

When she felt his hot breath against her center, the tip of his nose just rubbing her there, Molly felt the greatest jolt of pleasure that she had ever felt. It was enough for her to open her eyes and bring her a bit closer to earth. She lifted her head and reached her hand out to stroke his cheek, causing him to lift his face.

After their eyes met, both pairs very dark with desire, Molly said softly, "You don't have to do that, My, if you don't want to –"

"I _do_ want to," he replied, his voice deeper than she had ever heard it. "Believe me, my love: I've been dreaming of tasting you for a long time."

What else could Molly do but caress his cheek and let her head fall back against the pillows? Of her previous two relationships, only her second, Edward, had ever performed cuntilingus for her. It had only happened a few times, and when he did, it had only been because she had just performed oral sex on him. Plus, it seemed like one of those facts of life that men were not the biggest fan of going down on women for whatever reason.

But Mycroft said he wanted to, and she would be lying if she said that she hadn't everdreamed of Mycroft between her legs…

Then his mouth went to work and all cohesive or coherent thoughts left Molly's mind completely. She was lost in the sweetest and most agonizing pleasure imaginable, and she couldn't control the moans and cries that were torn from her throat. One hand clutched one of the pillows, and her dominant right hand was on his head, her fingers again raking through his hair. Every cell in her body was aflame, and she didn't want it to stop.

But stop it must – just not before the most Earth-shattering climax that she never thought she would experience in her life. Her back arching, her head pressing back against a pillow, and her mouth open in a silent but passionate cry she was sure made it all the way up to the heavens – for in that moment of climax, she was very certain that she had, too.

After it was over, Molly's entire body went limp and a fog of afterglow descended upon her. Through it, though, she felt her husband pressing gentle kisses to her inner thighs, her hips, her belly. When she found the strength to do so, Molly opened her eyes again. The fog of the afterglow faded and she watched Mycroft lift his head, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and crawl up her body until his face was hovering above her own. His eyes drank in her expression as he caressed her face; no words were needed from her to tell him just how well he had done.

Now that he was hovering above her face-to-face again, Molly could feel the prominent erection her husband had against her inner thigh. Any traces of exhaustion or weakness that had come from her powerful climax at the feeling, and her desire began to boil all over again. She lifted her hand and reached down; when it found his member, her fingers lovingly caressed the organ. It felt soft, hard and hot all at the same time.

At her action, Mycroft shut his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers as he gave an almost desperate groan. "Molly, please, I…"

Molly stopped, and brought both of her hands up to cup his cheeks. She could see on his face and hear in his voice the strands of fear and shame that had arisen at her action. When she recalled what he had told her of the woman who had humiliated him twenty years ago, it made perfect sense. Of course he would be afraid of letting her down, of his body betraying him in this embarrassing way. Of course, she wouldn't have any of that, especially tonight.

Caressing his cheekbones with her thumbs, she said quietly but clearly: "Look at me."

Keeping his forehead against hers, Mycroft obeyed her, and the sight of all of the emotions in her eyes made him want to weep. Then she said the only three words that needed to be said, for they encompassed everything that he needed to hear and know:

"_I love you_."

He kissed her as a tear escaped from each of his eyes. Molly kissed him back fiercely, willing all of his nervousness and insecurity to vanish. She could taste herself on his tongue, but she didn't care at all. She actually rather liked it, she would later realize.

Their eyes met again when the kiss had ended. Molly nodded at the question in Mycroft's eyes: she was ready, more than ready. So, his eyes never leaving hers, Mycroft reached down, took his naked member in his hand. Both knew that the other was clean; Mycroft also knew that Molly had been on birth control ever since their romantic relationship had begun.

When Molly felt the tip of his member touch her entrance, she whimpered and gripped his shoulders. Pressing his forehead to hers again, Mycroft said, "_I love you_," just before he entered her for the first time.

He took his time in filling her, for it had been a long time for the both of them. In and out, he gently went deeper, watching her face for any sign of pain or discomfort. Molly only felt a tiny bit of each, and she would reassure him and urge him on by lifting her hips and pressing kisses to his jaw and neck. When he had filled her completely, Mycroft lowered his head to her neck to he could take a few deep breaths as his body shuddered. Molly waited for him, rubbing his back and kissing his shoulder.

After three deep breaths, Mycroft seemed to have won the battle against his nerves. He lifted his head and began to move within her. Molly in turn brought her left leg up to wrap around his middle; her right leg followed soon after. They made love not too slowly and not too quickly, neither holding back the sounds of their pleasure or their love for each other in their actions.

For the first time, both of them could understand why sex was considered by some to be sacred and spiritually intimate. Neither had been raised religious, therefore neither had been taught to save yourself for marriage. Neither had planned the way their relationship had become intimate – that they wouldn't come together physically until they were married – but now neither would have had it any other way. Looking back, both of them knew that what made their intimacy feel so sacred: not a religious faith, but a true and deep love for each other.

When the both of them came close to climaxing, their movements became harder, more urgent, their passion almost boiling over. Molly came first, her nails digging into the skin of Mycroft's lower back, and her head thrown back in abandon. Mere seconds later, Mycroft's own release followed. He let out a great cry of Molly's name against her neck, sounding so vulnerable and desperate with no defenses up at all. With a massive shudder, he spilled out inside her, and then his body practically collapsed over hers. Somehow, he managed not to completely crush her. After slipping himself out of her, Mycroft slid his body down a bit so he could rest his head on her breast. Molly's hands, almost limp again from release, came up to caress his great head.

For a long time, they just lay there like that, basking in the afterglow and in the joy of finally being one person, one flesh, truly husband and wife. The only sounds in the room was the crackling fire and their breathing. And in that time, nothing else existed in the world for the other except each other.


	26. Chapter 26

**Twenty-Six**

The morning after their true wedding night, for the second time in their relationship, Molly woke before Mycroft. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to truly savor the sensation of being with him in bed again, him spooning her from behind – only this time, no clothing whatsoever separated them from each other. And it felt _wonderful_. More than that, it felt completely natural.

Still keeping her eyes closed, Molly smirked as she let her mind wander to the previous night, just before they had made love for the second time…

_…Now he was lying on his back, and she was curled up against his side with her head on his chest, and his arm wrapped securely around her. Both of them were still awash with sweet afterglow and happy reunion. When words were spoken, it was Molly who spoke first._

_ "The rose petals were so lovely, thank you."_

_ "Well, it was a bit late to buy a lot of candles and get them all lit around the place, and I recall you telling me about your teenage fascination with the Victorian language and meaning of each flower, particularly roses."_

_ She tilted her head up so she could look at his face. "But My…I think I told you that over a year ago…" _

_ His hand coming up to play with her hair, he said, "Yes, I know. Mid-March of last year, I believe. I remember the evening was a rainy one and the both of us were feeling a bit nostalgic."_

_ "Yes…" Molly nodded, her fingers absently stroking his hip as the memory came back to her mind. "And you told me all about your teenage fascination with medieval paintings and tapestries. Always a Knight of the Round Table at heart, aren't you?"_

_ "Yes, and you are my true Lady Fair," he murmured, kissing her brow. _

_ Molly giggled, snuggling closer to him and pressing her face to the crook of his neck for a moment. "A lady…no one has ever called me that before…I never expected to be called one, but still…it's very nice."_

_ Putting his mouth to her ear, he whispered, "Then I shall call you 'My Lady' every day."_

_ "I'll hold you to that."_

_ After a few more minutes of blissful silence, Molly lifted her body up a bit and rested her forearm across Mycroft's chest, then resting her chin against her arm, so their eyes could meet. "I'm curious, My…why down here in this room as opposed to our bedroom? Not that I'm complaining, this is…so perfect…I'd just like to know what's going on in your head."_

_ One hand stroking her back and the other still playing with her hair, he smiled. "Shall I give you the romantic reason or the scandalous reason?"_

_ "Oooo, now I'm _very _intrigued, Sir Knight," Molly teased, smiling eagerly. "Both, please."_

_ "Your wish is my command, My Lady. The romantic reason is that it was in this room, though it was at the Diogenes Club then but this room nonetheless, that we truly found each other. We saw each other at our best and at our worst. We became friends and we fell in love here more than anywhere. A lot of milestones were reached in this room, and I wanted our consummation to be one."_

_ Molly leaned up and kissed him. Then, she lifted her body and a leg up until she was straddling him. Leaning on her hands, which she now rested by his head, she asked with a deceivingly innocent smile: "And…the scandalous reason?"_

_ Mycroft smirked right back, but she saw his eyes darken with desire as his hands glided over her torso teasingly. "I have lost count…of just how many times and how many ways…I have imagined, dreamed, and yes, fantasized…about making love to you in here." His eyes drank in the sight of her naked form straddling his own naked form. "And _this _is something I dreamed of more often than most…"_

_ Words had stopped for a while after that…_

…Molly was brought back to reality by a very sensual nibble to her neck. "I can feel you smirking, Mrs. Holmes. And, believe me, you have _every _reason to."

Molly giggled at both his purred comment and the feeling of his breath against her neck. She felt his lips smile against her skin before giving her a gentler kiss there. Then, carefully, Molly rolled to her other side so they could lie face-to-face. His eyes were half open and he had a sleepy smile on his face that she was sure matched her own. His hair was all mussed up, and she could see the marks she had made on his shoulders and collarbone last night.

He'd never looked so handsome in Molly's eyes.

"Good morning," she said, caressing his cheek.

"Indeed," he said, his arms still around her beneath the covers. Bringing her closer to their bodies were touching, he asked, "Are you alright?"

His blue eyes were not without a drop of concern, and she rested her free hand against his chest. "Mm-hm. A bit sore, but only because it's been a while. Don't worry. And anyway, I like the feeling…helps convince me that this hasn't all been a wonderful dream."

"It isn't, Molly, I promise you," he said, bringing her even closer to that they could hold each other. He took a deep breath, savoring her scent, and looked at their bedroom window. He could tell by the radiance of the light creeping in through the gap in the curtains that it was very nearly time for the both of them to get up. He sighed, deciding to handle the situation like a Band-Aid. "If it were up to me, we wouldn't leave this bed for the foreseeable future. I know that you have the day off, but I'm afraid we're both going to be busy."

She sighed too, pressing her face to the crook of his neck. "I know…for now, it's enough that you're home, and knowing we'll be together tonight."

"And the night after, and the night after that, and for the rest of our lives."

* * *

It took them another minute of snuggling before they were able to get out of bed. After that, both of them found relief and joy in the fact that it felt just like their time in the cottage: living with each other, going through their morning routines together, felt completely natural. The element of their new intimacy only made it stronger. Neither could resist little touches and kisses, in both innocent and intimate places, resulting in Molly blushing and Mycroft smirking.

After their morning routines and breakfast had been taken care of, husband and wife talked over some things while helping each other get dressed in their bedroom.

"There is something I must tell you, Molly," said Mycroft.

Noting the serious tone, Molly paused in her task of helping him put his cufflinks back on. "What is it?"

"There is a reason why I went undercover to help Sherlock finish in Serbia in order to get him home sooner. Of course, that is reason enough, but it's also because of something happening at home now."

Molly's eyes widened a bit. "Has there been a threat?"

Mycroft nodded. "Domestic terrorist threat. We know that it's a legitimate one because we lost one of our agents when getting that proof."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, My," said Molly softly, stroking his cheek.

After kissing her fingers, Mycroft continued. "I couldn't tell you over the phone, and I'm afraid I can't say anything more about it."

Molly nodded, finishing his second cufflink and then taking his hands. "How worried are you?"

"Less than the Prime Minister is, and with both my brother and myself on English soil again, I have complete faith that it will be resolved without anything truly unfortunate happening. However, until it _is _resolved, I'd like you to exercise caution. If you've wondered why my parents are not already in London to see Sherlock, this is why; I've asked them to wait until this situation is over just to be safe."

"Of course. What would you like me to do? Go and stay with them until this is over?"

"Oh, no," said Mycroft, letting go of her hands so he could hold her to him. "I'm not strong enough to be apart from you now, even in that small capacity. On the small chance that the situation escalades, you may have to do that…but I'd much prefer you here with me."

"Then of course that's where I'll be," said Molly, then went on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. "So, in the meantime, what do you want?"

"Aside from when you have to work, until this is resolved, if you could keep close to home, it would be one less thing to worry about. One of my cars will take you to and from the hospital."

"Of course. And what about you?"

"I'll be coming in and out of work until this is resolved, to babysit and reassure more than anything." He rolled his eyes a bit at that. "Today, however, my first stop will be my brother, to make sure that he is working diligently at this…" Now Mycroft got a bit of a smirk on his face. "And also to tell him our news."

Molly bit her lip, remembering for the first time since seeing Mycroft again her parting words to Sherlock the previous evening. "Ah, about that…well, he already knows I'm married…" Then, with burning cheeks, Molly managed to tell Mycroft everything that she had said to Sherlock the previous evening.

When she was finished, Mycroft reacted in a surprising way. He took his suit jacket in one hand, Molly's hand in the other, and very quickly pulled her from the bedroom and down the stairs. "My, what are you doing?" Molly asked, very surprised at his quick actions.

"Forgive me, my love," Mycroft said, leading her into the kitchen. "But I had to get you away from the bed; the urge to push you into it and myself into you was _very_ strong."

Giggling, Molly pressed her now burning face to his chest. She had yet to get used to being so…_desired_. Seeming to sense her thoughts, Mycroft just held her until she felt her face return to room temperature. Then, she pulled back so she could look at him again. "How bad will he take the news?"

Mycroft sighed, locking his eyes with hers. He looked quite filled with regret. "Not well, I fear. He won't believe it, and then he'll be convinced that I must have some devious ulterior motive for becoming close to you. I am going to have to bear everything to him so that he will see how serious I am…that I am not the cold, heartless monster that he often likes to believe that I am."

"My…" Molly whispered, her voice breaking at the sadness in his voice. "He doesn't really believe that, I know it. He'd never have trusted you with the knowledge that he was alive otherwise."

Mycroft shook his head, looking at his feet. "He had no choice but to, Molly, he needed my help."

Molly cupped his cheek, bringing his face up so he could meet her eyes. "Mycroft, you know better than anybody how stubborn he can be. If he really didn't want your help, he would have convinced himself that it wasn't necessary and found a way to do it on his own. He loves you. You're his big brother. He can pretend all he wants that he doesn't care that you're in his life, but he would be lost and devastated if he truly lost you or come to think that you didn't care at all. Remember that today, and let your heart speak just as loudly as your mind when you talk to him."

Mycroft gave a small, wry chuckle. "How do you do it? You make it seem so easy and natural."

Molly smiled. "Don't forget that you're not bad at it yourself, mister. I remember your proposal, and all of the talks we've had as friends and as more. Have some more faith in yourself, My."

The corners of Mycroft's lips turned upward, and he kissed her forehead. The two of them then walked to the front hall, where Mycroft put on his coat. "You may hear from him today, my dear," said Mycroft.

"To see if I'm still of sound mind?" chuckled Molly.

"That, and to assist him in solving cases."

Molly raised her eyebrows. "Oh…really? It hasn't even been a day since his return…" Her eyes became sad. "Of course…John is furious with him, and he'll want to try and prove that he's not at all affected by that."

"Exactly. I know you'll be good and patient with him, but if he becomes unreasonable, especially about us, please don't hesitate to keep him in check."

"Oh, I won't," said Molly, absently picking a barely visible piece of lint from the collar of Mycroft's coat. "I won't stand for anybody speaking ill of my husband."

Mycroft kissed her lips this time, and it took all of his self-control to keep it tender and not let it escalate. "I'll won't be home late, I promise," he said when they broke apart.

Molly caressed his face. "You can do it, My. I know you will. I'll see you tonight."

"Yes, you will."

One final kiss and then Mycroft managed to leave their home. And as his car took him to Baker Street, he wished that he had as much faith in himself as Molly had in him. But as he remembered his wife's smile and how her eyes lit up just for him, he knew that was more than enough today.


	27. Chapter 27

**Twenty-Seven**

The tinny and very annoying buzzing sound filled the air as the red nose illuminated on the _Operation_ game board. "Oh, bugger!" Mycroft grumbled, dropping the organ he'd been trying to handle with the play-scalpel in his hand.

"Oopsie!" Sherlock said calmly, though his eyes shone with mirth. "Can't handle a broken heart. How _very _telling."

"Don't be smart," Mycroft said in a bored voice, not taking his eyes off the board as he rectified his mistake. He wasn't going to rise to any bait that his little brother dangled in front of his face today.

Sherlock sat back in his chair with a sigh. "That takes me back." His voice rose in tone to mimic his older brother's. "_Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one._"

Not lifting his head, Mycroft lifted his eyes so he could look at his brother's face. His mind remembered the previous night, specifically the image of his naked wife riding him, her body rivalling that of a goddess and all of the love and desire on her face just for him. He smirked and said _very_ smugly:

"I _am_ the smart one."

Sherlock's eyes snapped back onto his big brother upon hearing these words, spoken so many times before but never in the tone of a cat who got all the cream. Giving his brother a sweeping look from head to toe, Sherlock said quite rudely: "What the hell has happened to you?"

Mycroft wanted to laugh, but he merely raised his eyebrows, sat back in his seat, and folded his hands in his lap. "Have I suddenly sprouted the horns and forked tail you've always been convinced I have?"

"You've lost weight," Sherlock said. "At least ten pounds since I've been away. I thought it was physically impossible for you to avoid sugar concoctions completely. You look quite healthy and not nearly as miserable as you would if you've been doing that."

"I recommend a Triple-R, brother-mine: Regular Running Routine. That combined with small to moderate consumption of those foods work wonders on the human body. Then again, considering the way that you starve yourself and run yourself ragged when on a case, that's the last thing you need." His tone became a tad sharper. "Speaking of, you'd better put on the pounds you lost before Mummy and Papa come to visit or you know the floodgates that will burst."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and got up from his chair so he could pace. "Ugh, too many changes are happening! I wasn't even gone for that long!"

"221B Baker Street is the same as you left it, with the lovely addition of two-years dust accumulation. Mrs. Hudson is still your landlady-not-your-housekeeper. Lestrade is still a DI with Scotland Yard who will listen to your help and assistance on cases."

"Yes, yes, all right, that's fine. But John! Moved out and now getting married? Or attempting to? At least this Mary woman doesn't seem like a _complete _idiot. But what I was least expecting? Molly! Molly Hooper! She told me that _she _now has a husband! Was she really so bored while I was away that she had to do something so…" He shuddered. "And with her horrible taste in men and her abominable track record, who knows what kind of a moron she's saddled herself with. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if her new hubby is the man behind your little domestic terrorism situation."

"Oh, I can assure you that he is not," said Mycroft, keeping his voice even and pleasant though Sherlock's harsh words about Molly's romantic history made him bristle inwardly. "In fact, you'll be even more pleased to know that you already know the man." _Here goes nothing, little brother. Just look at my hands and then you can have the tantrum you're looking for a really good reason to have._

But Sherlock merely paused in his pacing to give his big brother a mildly surprised look. Then he resumed his pacing at a more deliberate pace. "Huh…well, it's not John. He's with Mary and is quite set on her…Lestrade? Mmm, nope, I didn't see a wedding ring on his finger, and a sentimental man like him would _definitely_ wear one." He paused and faced Mycroft again. The older man silently willed his brother to lower his eyes to his folded hands, but Sherlock just got a more horrified look on his face as a new thought occurred to him. "Oh, _please _don't tell me that it's Anderson! Lestrade told me yesterday that his wife left him after he had some kind of nervous breakdown!"

Mycroft laughed heartily, which threw Sherlock somewhat. The last time that he had heard his older brother laugh like that…had he ever heard him laugh like that?

"I assure you, Sherlock," Mycroft said when he'd caught his breath again. "Molly would _never _have such low standards. Although, I have to say, I can put _you _on the same level as him now."

"_Excuse me?_" Sherlock practically shouted, bright color coming to his cheeks and ears.

Still smiling, but inwardly steeling himself for an even bigger and inevitable explosion, Mycroft said, "The only aspects of my appearance that have changed in the past two years that you have managed to deduce are my weight loss and healthy vigor, Sherlock?"

Sherlock immediately turned to fully face his brother as his eyes deduced his brother as thoroughly as he could. It took seven seconds for Sherlock to find what Mycroft wanted him to find. When Sherlock's eyes found Mycroft's ring on another hand – and on an extremely significant finger – he froze completely. For a full minute, he just stood there, and Mycroft waited as patiently as he could for the explosion he knew was inevitably coming.

And it did come when Sherlock took two stomps towards where Mycroft was sitting and violently snatched up his left hand so he could see for sure that his ring was indeed resting on his left ring finger. Then he looked back up at Mycroft's face, dropping the hand like a hot potato: "No…_NO! _You can't…you and her…you _can't _be!"

Knowing that no words would help, Mycroft only nodded in confirmation as he kept eye contact with his little brother.

Now, as he took a step back, Sherlock's face became contorted with anger and disgust. "Just…what the _hell_ are you playing at, _brother dearest_? Had to go to extreme measures to ensure that she kept my secret? My word that she was completely trustworthy not good enough for you? Her being such a sentimental creature, you had to go to base but extreme measures to ensure that everything did not come undone?"

Had Mycroft Holmes been a less intelligent man, he would have swiftly rose from his seat and broken Sherlock's jaw (at the very least). And yes, there was a part of him that wanted to do just that upon hearing these expected but no less ugly words about him and Molly. However, Mycroft had anticipated this very reaction because he knew his little brother only too well. So, keeping the least mature part of himself shackled, Mycroft took a deep breath and spoke one of the few words that he knew would shut Sherlock up:

"Rinehart."

Sure enough, it not only shut Sherlock up, it caused him to fall backwards into his chair again. When he finally managed to speak again, Sherlock breathed, "You…what did you just say?"

Mycroft gave a fortifying sigh before he spoke in a clear and somber voice. "Timothy Rinehart Ross Holmes. Our brother. My twin." He cocked his head a bit at his little brother. "You were so young when we lost him, Sherlock…I've never known if you have any memories of him."

Sherlock's mouth twisted a bit before he responded, his own voice low but a touch bitter. "Well, I learned very soon after his passing that the perfect way for you to shut me out was to mention his name."

Mycroft hung his head, knowing this was true. "I know." He lifted his head again. "I couldn't ask then, but I can ask now. Do you remember him?"

Sherlock gave him a hard look, still reeling from hearing the last thing he had ever expected Mycroft to open up about. Then, he closed his eyes and delved into his Mind Palace. It took him a few moments, but he _was_ able to find some memories and dig them up. They were old, among the very oldest that he had, and most were fragments and pieces. When the strongest of them were brought to his mind's eye, his own eyes opened again and he spoke it aloud to Mycroft:

"The holiday that we took together…on the French coast in summertime…I remember walking with you and him along the beach." He gulped. "Each of you held one of my hands…and you would lift me up when strong waves came in…"

Sherlock looked at his brother again, and was again shocked, this time by the wistful look that now came to his face. He must be remembering it too…Shaking his head a bit, Sherlock spoke more sharply again. "Mycroft…what is this? Why now, after over thirty years? And what has this got to do with the fact that you and Molly are now…married?" He spoke that word as if it were a very difficult pill to swallow.

Mycroft locked his gaze with his brother's, hiding nothing anymore, and leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "It is because of Molly that I am able to even speak Rinehart's name aloud, let alone talk about him here with you. It is because of Molly that I have become a slimmer and healthier man. But more than anything and most importantly…it is because of Molly that I am no longer afraid."

"Of what?" asked Sherlock, in the same shocked and quiet tone.

"My humanity. Of the human being that I truly am, all of the assets and all of the flaws. Because she sees me and accepts me for everything that I truly am…I'm finally able to do the same, one day at a time."

Sherlock shut his eyes and shook his head a bit, still reeling from the shock of the news. Opening his eyes again, he asked with more shocked curiosity than disgusted disdain: "How…you and her…_how_?"

Mycroft kept his strong and honest gaze on his brother as he spoke. "When two people share a secret – and quite a big secret at that – previous barriers and smokescreens have a way of falling away, causing these two people who barely knew each other to truly see each other for the first time. At your show of a funeral, I saw her, knowing that she was the only other person who knew your funeral was only a show. I could see how the secret weighed on her…and a force that I will never fully understand compelled me to reach out to her. We became friends, and then something more, and we married just before I joined you in Eastern Europe."

He paused so that Sherlock could fully take this brief but concise explanation in. When he did, Mycroft delivered the most important fact: "We married for the only reason that any couple should marry, Sherlock: love. I love her with all of myself, and by a miracle of this never-lazy universe, she loves me in return. You don't have to like it, and I'm not asking for that now. All I ask is that you come to accept it."

Sherlock emitted a sound somewhere between a huff and a snort. "Accept it? This…all of this…coming from the man who suddenly forgot the '_caring is not an advantage_' mantra that he's lived by for years!"

Mycroft sighed. "It's the truth, Sherlock: caring isn't an advantage. In our lines of work, it can be a dangerous disadvantage. But stating a fact of life is not the same is preaching a life of complete abstinence from it. That would be doomed to fail from the start."

"Why?" asked Sherlock like a petulant child. "You've done an exemplary job of it in the past thirty years!"

Mycroft set his jaw and for the first time, he looked angry. "How have I done that, Sherlock? By never losing touch with our parents and keeping them as safe as the royal family themselves? By looking after you in the only ways you will let me? When I dropped everything I was doing, even in the midst of an international crisis, when you've nearly overdosed in the dead of winter alone in that filthy alley? When I refused to leave your side at the hospital?"

Sherlock flinched, that horrible memory – or lack of it – returning to his mind. His first two years at university were certainly more about narcotic rather than academic stimulation. And the incident to which Mycroft had been alluding…that certainly had been a close call. And Mycroft was not lying: he _had _been there for him, most likely saved his life…

His attention was brought back to the present when Mycroft stood up and walked to the door, putting his coat back on as he spoke. He looked a bit weary, but his certainty and dignity were perfectly intact. "Have it your way, little brother. Don't believe me, as you have always done. But please speak to Molly; today is her day off, and she would love to spend some time with you. More than that, she sees me as clearly as she sees you, you trust her with your life and the lives of your friends, and she wears her heart on her sleeve. If you won't believe in me, then at least believe in her."

He then walked back towards Sherlock with a clear warning in his eyes. "But one warning to you, brother-mine. These past two years, especially this past year, have not been easy for her. Hard enough carrying the burden of your secret, but I'm sure she's mentioned her younger brother to you?"

Sherlock cleared his throat a bit and thought for a moment. "Yes, she has, more than once. David. He's in the army as a, um…he is an interpreter, I believe?"

Mycroft's face became quite somber. "He _was_…he was killed in action five months ago."

Sherlock's face immediately became just as somber, sitting back in his chair at this news. Hanging his head and not having any words, he could only shake his head.

"I know," said Mycroft. "The universe may rarely be lazy, but it is frequently cruelly unfair. So please promise me something, Sherlock. Look at me."

Sherlock did.

"You can be as angry as you want about this, but if you want to express any of that anger, express it to _me_, not her. She doesn't deserve it and she's been through enough. Promise me, Sherlock, and _mean it_."

Holding his older brother's gaze, Sherlock gave a slow but certain nod.

And because he knew his little brother so well, that was enough for Mycroft. So he nodded too and then walked to the door. "I expect a progress report on our domestic Homefront situation by tomorrow morning."

After opening the door, Mycroft paused and looked over his shoulder at Sherlock, still sitting in his chair. He couldn't help but notice how alone – even lonely – he looked sitting by himself in the sitting room of his flat.

"Molly is expecting a text from you, Sherlock. Don't be rude to your new sister."

Mycroft then shut the door on the astonished look that appeared on Sherlock's face. Satisfied that he had done the job that he had come here to do, he made his way down the steps. But before he reached the front door, he turned to the door of 221A and knocked.

Mrs. Hudson opened it and smiled with delight at the sight of her caller. "Oh, Mr. Holmes! How lovely to see you! And congratulations to you and Molly!" Seeing the look of surprise on the man's face, she continued. "I just called her to see when we would be meeting up for tea this week, and she told me your lovely news because she wasn't sure when she'd be able to see me in person right now." She took one of Mycroft's hands in hers. "I wish you both nothing but happiness and joy. Though she's always been private about her relationship with you, it's easy to know how devoted you are to each other."

His chest filling with warmth, Mycroft squeezed her hands. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. That truly means a lot from you. I know how close you and Molly have become…and I hope this means that you are not angry with her or me?"

"Mycroft," she said, her voice serious but her smile happy. "Sherlock is alive and home because of you two. That is all that matters to me. Now we can only hope that John will realize that, too."

Mycroft nodded. "I'm sure he will with time…hopefully it will take less time rather than more. Now, I wanted to ask if you would bring something up to my brother. If you have any baked goods, that would be best. I've just told him he now has a sister, and he's still a bit shocked."

"Ah, say no more, I'll whip something up in a jiffy. Now you have a lovely day, Mycroft, and give your new bride my love!" She pecked his cheek and then closed the door to her flat.

It took Mycroft quite a bit of effort to erase all traces of the smile that had come to his face before arriving at the Parliament building for the first of his meetings.


	28. Chapter 28

**Twenty-Eight**

Late morning found Molly Holmes in the Diogenes Room, as she and Mycroft now called that room in their home. She sat with her feet up on the sofa, browsing on her laptop for research ideas. She hadn't taken the time to write an in-depth paper for a few years now, and the start of her new life made her eager to want to try again. What she needed was a great topic, something that intrigued her and make her want to keep digging and explore further. Perhaps in her free time today she would find one.

The sound of her mobile ringing brought her out of her web search. Picking up the device, Molly smiled when she saw that it was from her husband. She answered with a sweet, "Hello, My."

"_Hello, my love_," he replied, his voice low and a bit weary.

Remembering what he had set out to do first thing this morning, Molly's tone sobered a bit but was still filled with warmth. "How did it go? Was it very bad?"

"_Nothing that I was not prepared for. It could have been worse, actually. I suppose I said everything that needed to be said in the best way that I could._"

"Well, if anyone can do it, you can, Secret Agent Man," said Molly, hoping to put a smile on his face even if she couldn't see it.

His chuckle in response was more than enough. "_Well, my love, be prepared to hear from him sooner rather than later. I doubt that he will outright confront you, but rather create a way in which he can observe you and deduce whether or not you are a happy bride or suffering Stockholm Syndrome._"

Molly nodded, remembering the conversation that they'd had about this that morning. "And that way would be making me John for the day?"

"_Most likely. When you hear from him, text Vincent and he will take you to Baker Street_."

Vincent was one of the three men who drove Mycroft's cars, but had been with Mycroft the longest and was the one he trusted the most. Molly had come to know him a bit since growing closer to Mycroft, and liked his professional but kind manner.

"Alright. I'll keep you updated as well so you won't worry."

"_I appreciate that, Molly. And after you arrive at Baker Street, tell Vincent that he needn't wait for you. My baby brother may have many faults, but I do trust him with you. When you are ready to come home, text Vincent again and he'll pick you up_."

Molly sighed. Under normal and less dangerous circumstances, she would protest against being chauffeured around the city like a member of the royal family. But these were not normal or less dangerous circumstances, so she replied, "Sure, My. You won't be too late at work, will you?"

"_No, my dear, I doubt it. I rather think that I'll be home before you. I'll let you know._"

"Good. I'll see you tonight." Molly smiled. "Oh, I love being able to say that."

"_Touché, my love. And don't worry about my little brother. I've ensured he'll behave reasonably, and if he steps out of line, you know how to set him straight_."

Molly laughed. "Thanks for the confidence boost, and good luck today. Bye."

"_Au revoir_."

* * *

Sherlock really did behave himself with Molly that whole afternoon, as Mycroft had predicted. Honestly, it relieved her quite a bit. With her husband back home and now his wife in every way, Molly was the happiest she had been since the death of her brother. The last thing she wanted was for a fight with the overgrown man-child to taint that precious happiness.

As the afternoon went on, Molly's fear lessened and her worry grew the more that she watched Sherlock. Though he put up a façade of "keep calm, carry on, I don't care that John isn't speaking to me right now," it was not very hard to see through, especially for Molly who knew him so well. Though he had told her to be herself and not John, he would call her by John's name once in a while throughout the afternoon. Also, she would sometimes hear him murmuring to himself things like, _"Shut up, John" _or _"Don't be stupid, John_._"_

Though Molly never commented on it, she made note of everything in her mind, determined to help him in any way that she could. She knew that the last two years couldn't have been easy for him. Not just because he had been taking down a criminal network, but because he had been alone all that time with those closest to him back home thinking he was gone for good. While she was very happy that Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had forgiven him and welcomed him back with very little fuss, she knew that it had been John that he had missed the most.

The end of the afternoon found the two of them walking down the steps of their latest client's apartment building. "Fancy some chips?" he asked nonchalantly as he passed her on the stairs.

Molly furrowed her brow a bit, not quite certain whether this was a dinner invitation or that their next client worked at a fish-and-chip shop. "What?"

"I know a fantastic chip shop just off just off the Marylebone Road, the owner always gives me extra portions," he clarified.

Following behind him, she asked, "Did you get him off a murder charge?"

"Nope, I helped him put up some shelves."

She could hear in his voice the smirk that was surely playing on his face, and she softly laughed.

Then, she felt her mobile in her trouser pocket vibrate once, which meant a text alert. Molly pulled out the device and smiled when she saw a text from her husband:

_Just arrived home. Won't be needed at the office until the morning. Shall I start making dinner for us? _

She immediately texted a reply as she stepped onto the lobby landing:

_Yes, please! I'm on my way home._

Molly then sent off a text to Vincent, giving him the address and asking him to pick her up.

"Mycroft?"

Molly gave a little start and looked up at Sherlock, who was standing right beside her with his hands behind his back. The expression on his face was unreadable.

A little embarrassed because she had momentarily forgotten about Sherlock, she said, "Um…yes."

"I'll take that as a no, then."

"I'm afraid so, Sherlock. I'm sorry."

Sherlock shook his head. "Don't be. Your actions are the last piece of proof that I needed."

Molly raised an eyebrow, already getting a good idea of what he meant. "Proof of what, Sherlock? That I'm not brainwashed or under government control?"

A tinge of color came to Sherlock's cheeks, and he had the decency to look down at the floor before looking at her and responding. "I suppose so. But I should have known that was unnecessary. When I saw my brother this morning, he looked better than I'd ever seen him look, and I've known him all my life. He wouldn't have looked like that if he were only manipulating or blackmailing you. Add to that the fact that you have displayed absolutely no sign of Stockholm Syndrome the entire afternoon.

"But the way your face lit up when you got that text message from your husband…your face has never looked like that for any man you've been smitten with."

The last three words went unspoken, but they were clear to the both of them: _Not even me._

Molly smiled at him gently. "Well, that's because I'm not only smitten. I'm in love with my husband. With all my heart I am, and he feels the same for me. I just hope that you can come to believe that."

Her gaze was direct and her tone was strong. Sherlock held it for a moment, and then slowly, he gave a nod. "I trust you, Molly Hooper. I underestimated you once, but I promised myself after that Christmas party that will never again forget how strong you are. You reminded me today that nobody, even the British government himself, could make you do anything that you did not want to do."

Molly gave a surprised and relieved smile. "Thank you, Sherlock, truly. That means so much coming from you."

"Well…you deserve it. What I've put you through has been substantial and difficult for you, to say the least."

"But it was worth it," said Molly, touching his arm. "Because you're alive." She paused, biting her lip as she worked out what she wanted to say. She resumed after a minute. "Remember what you and Mycroft said to each other in Berlin, when we found you near dead in that warehouse?"

Shame flooded Sherlock's face, and he looked down at his feet. But Molly lifted her hand from his arm, and lifted his chin back up sharply so he would look her in the eye as she said what she had to say:

"I understand why you said what you said now, but you knew then and you know now how cruel that was. Losing your brother…" She gulped and blinked. "…is excruciating. He couldn't bear to lose you, too."

As she lowered her hand from his chin, Sherlock looked at her solemnly as he pursed his lips slightly. When he spoke, his voice was deep with sincere compassion. "I'm deeply sorry about your brother, Molly."

Now she was the one to look down and clear her throat. Wiping her eyes before tears could escape, she managed to choke out a small "thank you."

A few minutes passed in silence as Molly composed himself and Sherlock struggled to find the right words to say what he wished to say to the woman who had not only saved his life, but was now a part of his family.

"Molly…" he finally said, in a voice lacking his usual confidence and bravado, "I know that, if we had ever met, your brother would have rightly given me a piece of his mind as well as his fists. And I also know that nothing could ever replace your little brother. However, since you have married my big brother, and I am technically older than you in age…perhaps you would accept a big brother, albeit a poor one?"

Molly looked up at Sherlock, surprise replacing the sadness in her features. Then, new tears filled her eyes as a trembling smile came to her mouth. In the next moment, she was embracing him tightly as she said, "Gladly, Sherlock!"

Caught a bit off guard, Sherlock automatically returned the embrace. But it only took a moment for him to relax into it, for it did feel nice, like a proper hug from family should.

The sound of Molly's phone vibrating caused the hug to break, and she pulled out the device. "Vincent's just pulled up outside to pick me up," she said.

Sherlock held open the front door for her. "Unsurprising that Mycroft is insisting on some more security for you while this threat is still active."

"And you'll end it soon, right?" asked Molly as they stepped outside into the crisp November air. Some snowflakes were falling prettily from the cloudy London sky. "I know how much you like to put your big brother on edge, but I can tell he's worried."

"Correct as usual, Molly," said Sherlock. "But I promise that it is my first priority. No one is more eager to end Moriarty's reign of terror once and for all than me."

This statement was very loaded with subtext, and Molly heard it all. Stepping closer to him, she squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Sherlock, I promise you that John will come round. You know what he would say to me when he really missed you? He just wanted you to stop being dead. You have, and he'll soon realize that's what matters the most."

His eyes told Molly that he wanted to believe her but found it quite difficult at the moment, but he gave her a small and sincere smile. "Thank you, Molly Holmes."

Those four words also had a lot of subtext that Molly heard: _Thank you for saving my life, I'm sorry for all that I've put you through, I will try to be better as a big brother, and I am glad that we are now family._

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "My pleasure. Solve this soon, keep the faith, and remember we're always here for you."

He nodded and opened the door of the black car waiting at the curb. She got in with a last wave, and Sherlock stood on the sidewalk as the car drove away.

* * *

The first thing that greeted Molly when she entered her home was the smell of roasting chicken and potatoes. It was one of the recipes that she had given to Mycroft for his birthday over a year ago. Smiling, she quickly stripped off her winter gear, hung the clothing articles up, and kicked off her shoes. She restrained herself from running to the kitchen, instead opting to rather quickly tiptoe there.

Mycroft was at the counter tossing a small salad. Glad that he didn't have anything hot in his hands, Molly entered the kitchen and, once she came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head between his shoulder blades. Mycroft stopped in his task and covered her hands with his, giving a content sigh.

"You're home," Molly murmured, breathing in his scent.

Lacing his fingers with hers, Mycroft could only smile and reply, "Yes, we are."

_**THE END**_

* * *

**A/N: **_So, we have come to the end of my Mollcroft story. I'm really proud of it, despite it not being a very popular pairing or part of the fandom. I love both characters and really enjoyed exploring both them and the possibility of them coming together. I hope all of you who read it enjoyed it too. Please leave a kind word and Godspeed. :)_


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